


The Dog Days of Summer

by mynameisnoneya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boss/Employee Relationship, Cock Block, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Lady is a dog, Matchmaking, Neighbors, Office Jobs, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Past Violence, Pets, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Harassment, Smut, Stranger is a dog, Strangers to Lovers, Tension, Vaginal Sex, Veterinary Clinic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 73,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9613313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: It's summer time in King's Landing, and Sansa Stark is experiencing one really rotten day as she tries to get ready for work.  However, after seeing a critter in her apartment, her loud scream summons Sandor Clegane, the mysterious, scarred neighbor living across the hall whom she has been trying to talk to for months.  Little do either of them know that their fateful encounter will lead to a completely new outlook on life for the both of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy a romantic comedy paired with two of my favorite GoT characters, Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane, then you just might enjoy this fun story of two neighbors falling in love!
> 
> Please note that I made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not. 
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and kudos!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While suffering through a miserable morning as she is getting ready for work, Sansa's shriek of terror at the sight of the critter in the kitchen brings forth the huge man who lives across the hall. So, how do you think things will go now that she has his complete and undivided attention?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is just like the proverbial dog who caught the car...

Sansa Stark was having a bad day.

A really, _really_ bad day.

And it was only 6:43 AM.

First, her alarm had refused to sound as scheduled this fine Friday morning, thanks to her clumsy year-old schnocker, Lady, tripping over the cord sometime in the middle of the night and unplugging it with her fuzzy little white legs.

When she had awoken to the sound of Lady growling at something in the small galley kitchen of her apartment, Sansa quickly realized that she had overslept.  Ignoring Lady’s whimpers and snarls, Sansa dashed into her bathroom with such gusto that she accidentally jabbed her right thigh into the sink counter, causing her to yelp in pain and shout a few choice obscenities.

Once in the steaming hot water, desperately washing and conditioning her long, copper mane, she noticed that she had forgotten to grab her towel before jumping into the shower 7 minutes ago.  Groaning aloud to herself at the growing laundry list of irritations this morning, Sansa choked back a string of curses when she nicked herself twice while shaving her legs.  As she finished her grooming routine, she stepped out of the shower onto her bath mat, dripping wet, carefully stretching across her white tile bathroom floor in an attempt to nab the fluffy purple towel hanging on the back of the door.  Unfortunately, Sansa reached a tad too far, losing her balance and pitching forward, stumbling blindly as her naked form landed on her bare knees.

The curses poured forth even more freely as she battled her frizzy mess of curls, wishing to all the gods that the humidity level here in King’s Landing would die down just a little.  Having been born and raised up north in Winterfell, Sansa was still not used to such sweltering heat and to the humid, dank air around here that was so thick, she thought that she could slice it with a knife most afternoons during the summer.  It took four styling products and 30 minutes of her life that she would never get back to finally beat her hair into submission.

Once Sansa finished that torture, it was all down-hill from there.  No eyeliner left in the tube.  Pantyhose ran from toe to knee.  The zipper on her favorite black power suit skirt decided to break off when she yanked it too roughly after it had snagged on the fabric.  And the pièce de resistance of her wardrobe malfunctions this morning happened when the thread on her white short-sleeve blouse decided to unravel, causing the pearly white top button to drop and roll right into the air vent on the floor by her dresser.

Sansa gritted her teeth.  A typically jovial, optimistic person, she was on the brink of mutating into a raging beast.

When she finally padded down the hallway holding her black pumps in her hands, bare legged since her last pair of hosiery now sat stuffed in the trash can, she caught a glimpse of what had Lady so stirred up earlier this morning.

A mouse.  An adorable, tiny gray rodent that under different circumstances would have caused Sansa to emit one of her best “oohs” or “aws.”  This cute and cuddly little critter, however, was in her kitchen.  Just sitting there on the bar which separated her kitchen and living room.  It wasn’t scared.  In fact, it seemed to be mocking Lady, who was drooling and snarling as fiercely as any silly small dog could muster, obviously quivering with the anticipation of having an unanticipated and most welcomed morning snack.

The shriek that Sansa emitted at the sight of the small gray mouse was most likely heard all the way in Dorne, it was that shrill.  Her display caused the miniscule object of her terror to bolt, diving head-first off her counter and scurrying underneath the door to her pantry, with the brave, valiant Lady hot on its heels.

Having thrown her heels into the air during her bout of terror, Sansa stood just outside her kitchen as she supported her weight with one well-manicured hand against the doorframe.  She clutched her heart with her other hand, panting vigorously from the sudden outburst of distress that had escaped her hot pink lips.

From the short distance to her living room, she heard a rough rapping on her front door.

“Hey, are you OK?” she heard a deep, raspy male voice shouting through the closed entry way, “Everything alright in there?”

_Crap!  Now he decides to speak to me of all damn days!_

Oh, she knew that voice.

Even though she had barely spoken to that man since he first moved into the apartment across the hall two months ago, Sansa knew without a doubt that the husky voice belonged to the ginormous, sullen, dark haired man who clung to his privacy like a shield.

Sansa remembered the Saturday morning when she first laid eyes on the very muscular and very tall man who was carrying moving boxes from the self-service rental van as she came home from a trip to the gym.  Although she didn’t get a really good look at his face, between his bulging biceps and his finely sculpted ass on full display when he bent over to lift three large cardboard boxes at once, her curiosity was definitely peaked.

Deciding on the spot that she wanted to introduce herself with a flair, Sansa dashed inside her apartment, grabbing one of her home-made cinnamon breads from the fridge.  She painstakingly warmed it in her oven, making sure to bring it to just the right temperature to ensure its insides were warm and gooey yet the crust on the outside was slightly chewy.  She jumped in the shower, completing her grooming routine at record speed, and applied a light coat of make up before taming her damp, naturally curly hair into a low side braid.  Opting to wear a fitted white tee and her favorite knee-length denim skirt, Sansa took one final look in the mirror before dashing out the front door to greet her new neighbor.

Darting out of her own apartment, she blocked the extremely large man’s entry into his own place just as he was rounding the corner from the stairwell and stomping down the hallway with a silver and black suitcase in one of his massive hands.  “Welcome, neighbor!” she chirped as she proudly presented to him her loaf of freshly baked cinnamon bread wrapped neatly inside two layers of aluminum foil to keep it warm.  Unfortunately, Sansa’s efforts to impress said new neighbor exploded right in her lightly freckled face.

The very, _very_ tall man with the full, dark beard and shoulder-length, wavy black hair that hung loosely across the right side of his face couldn’t completely hide the train wreck of raised, zig-zag scars and reddened flesh.  Without a doubt, this otherwise handsome man obviously had suffered some sort of trauma in his past.  As her hand unconsciously darted to cover her mouth to suppress a gasp of surprise, Sansa was absolutely mortified at how inappropriate her reaction to her up-close and personal inspection had been.

At first, the man’s eyes widened comically at Sansa’s gesture of good will.  His mouth gaped open slightly at the sight of her standing there in his doorway, holding her house-warming gift with such reverence that she probably looked like she was making an offering to the gods.  But when he witnessed the brief flash of horror overtake her, visibly retracting her smile as she drank in the sight of his damaged visage, his demeanor completely changed.

“Do I frighten you so?” he barked, his steel-gray eyes narrowing tightly as he demanded that she examine him, tacitly daring her to avert her eyes, “Take a good long stare.  You know you want to.”  Before Sansa could apologize profusely and attempt to rectify the situation, with his free hand he snatched the token of neighborly love out of her dainty grasp, dangling it in front of him like it was contaminated, and quickly darted into his apartment, shutting the door behind him with his foot.

If the ground could have opened up and devoured her whole at that moment, Sansa would have been eternally grateful. 

For the next week, no matter what time of day she entered or exited her apartment, Sansa couldn’t catch hide nor hair of her new neighbor.  She tried peeking out of her doorway once or twice when she thought she heard him opening his door, but her timing was always such that she missed him.  Desperately wanting to apologize but not quite sure what he might do if she just marched over to his front door and knocked, she floundered helplessly, unsure of what to do next.

Then exactly one week later, she finally, _finally_ , caught sight of her new neighbor down in the laundry room as she was bringing down a load of darks.  Tuning out the world, he was listening to his iPod, standing with his back to the doorway while folding his ridiculously large articles of clothing on one of the tables next to the dryer.  It was the first time she had a glimpse of the elusive man since the cinnamon bread incident.

As soon as she had tossed her clothes into an empty washer and started the load, Sansa caught him in her cross-hairs, approaching him with her head held high as she smiled her best, most confident smile.  When she reached her target, he all but jumped out of his skin when she tapped him on the shoulder, spinning around rapidly to see who had snuck up on him.  Motioning for him to remove his earbud, she volunteered to help him fold his clothes, hoping that he would catch on that this was her way of both bestowing a good-will gesture and a practical form of apology all in one.  Before he could reply to her, she reached into his green laundry basket poised on the edge of the folding table, humming to herself as she dug out an item of clothing to fold for him.

The vivid look of humiliation that overtook his countenance while she stood there clutching a pair of his red plaid boxers in her small hands made Sansa wish that the washer would start pouring water out onto the linoleum at that very moment to provide her with some form of diversionary tactic.

A deep crimson blush fired across her pale, embarrassed face.  Sansa’s tongue went limp.  She couldn’t even form the words to apologize for either her past or her present transgressions before he snatched his underwear roughly from her small hands, muttering some inaudible curse under his breath while stuffing his formerly private undergarment back inside his laundry basket and hauling ass out of the laundry room to escape her misguided efforts at being neighborly. 

Lost in her thoughts slightly too long, Sansa was snapped out of her reverie as she heard the man pounding rather forcefully now on her front door.

“Woman, answer the door!”  The tone of utter concern in his voice and the forceful pounding on her front door caused her to fear that he damn well intended to break it down like some knight in shining armor bent on saving the damsel in distress if she didn’t open it right now.

“Hold on a minute!” she yelled in return, regaining her composure and scurrying past the bar where not seconds ago that infernal rodent had been perched.  Sprinting the short distance between her kitchen and front door with Lady following behind closely, Sansa unlocked the door, cracking it open, and blocking her excitable dog from scrambling outside of her apartment.

As Sansa stood in her doorway, she froze in her tracks.  Her barefoot neighbor was standing on her doorstep clad in nothing more than a pair of knit black athletic shorts and an old, faded t-shirt with some rock band’s logo splayed across his broad, definitely muscular chest.  Taking in the sight of his extraordinarily long, well-defined legs made her wonder for a brief second what the rest of his body might look like under closer inspection.

“I’m...fine,” she chirped as she tried to get control of herself, “Thanks for checking on me.”

The extremely tall man studied her closely for a few seconds with narrow eyes, obviously trying to assess the situation.  Apparently, he wanted to make sure that she wasn’t lying about her not being in a life-or-death scenario.

“Well, that’s good, then,” he huffed, putting his sizeable hands on his hips, “That scream of yours sounded like some fucker was in here murdering you.”  His hair was still messy like he had only rolled out of his probably king-size bed just minutes ago.

_He was probably sleeping in that last night…focus, Sansa!  Focus!_

Sansa blinked as she righted her thoughts, offering him a cheesy grin at his description of what he imagined was taking place in her apartment.  “No, nothing like that!  I just saw…a mouse.”

That confession of idiocy actually caused the giant man to crack a smile.

“A mouse?” he chuckled, “A little mouse caused you to scream like that?”

“Listen, it wasn’t _that_ little,” Sansa giggled, now openly laughing at herself at how ridiculous the whole situation and morning had become, “OK, maybe it was tiny, but seriously, it was on the counter.  It scared the daylights out of me!”

An awkward silence descended upon the two neighbors as they stood there gawking at each other, neither one really knowing what to say or do next.  At that moment, Lady started growling at something she saw out in the hallway.

“Lady, hush!” Sansa chastised her furry white companion.  As Sansa’s eyes fell upon her neighbor’s open front door, sitting stoically in the doorway was an absurdly large, black mastiff who had parked itself on sentry duty while its even larger master came to Sansa’s rescue.  Its air of complete aloofness  made the giant dog look like it could be her neighbor’s butler, not pet.

“OK, well, I’m glad you’re alright,” her neighbor said as he nodded in Sansa’s direction, “I’ll be off, then.”

As her well-built neighbor turned abruptly to head home, Sansa decided that it was now or never.

“Wait!” she called out, bending down to scoop Lady into her arms and stepping out into the hall, “Do you have a minute?”

The man immediately halted his retreat, slowly turning to face Sansa once again, asking a question in response to her question, “Don’t you have to be at work or something right now?”

Sansa grinned at his assessment, “Yeah, I do.  But I’m already going to be late.  A few more minutes won’t make that much of a difference.”

“Alright, then,” he said, walking toward her.  The man stood just inches before her, practically standing in her personal space.  Sansa, who was above average in height herself, had to crane her neck to look into his face.  _Jesus, he’s tall!_

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry if I’ve annoyed you or come off like some total loser,” she began, smiling widely while staring him right in the eyes, “I just wanted to introduce myself and be a good neighbor.  I haven’t done a good job of that so far, that’s for sure!”

Apparently, he liked hearing that apology.  His entire face lit up with mischief as he stared down into her bright, blue eyes.

“You don’t say?”  His response was terse but full of snark as his one good eyebrow cocked in question.  Leaning his weight onto one foot, he folded his massive arms across his impressive chest.

“Yeah, I know,” Sansa giggled, rolling her eyes at the playful change in his demeanor, “So, are you going to accept my apology or what?  Because if you don’t, there’s no more cinnamon bread for you, sir.”

“I’m no sir,” he said smugly, pausing his comment momentarily as he quickly wetted his lower lip with his tongue, “But damn me if I don’t want a crack at another round of that bread you made.  So yeah, you’re forgiven.”

Hearing that he not only accepted her apology but that he wanted _more_ sent a slight tingle down her spine.

“Thank you,” she replied, cuddling Lady in one arm, “I’m Sansa, by the way.”

She could have sworn that the humungous man was staring at her mouth.

“Sandor,” he stated with a nod of his head.

“Nice to meet you, Sandor.”

“Likewise.”

Engulfed in the second round of awkward silence for the day, the two neighbors continued to stare at each other.  Sandor’s enormous dog apparently had enough of staying on guard duty, however, so the giant, black beast sauntered out into the hallway, heeling by his master’s side.

“And whom might this be?” Sansa asked, lowering her eyes to smile at his huge pooch.

“This old guy?” Sandor said with a smile as he bent down to ruff his dog’s head, “This is Stranger.”  Part of the mastiff’s right ear was missing as if it had been chewed off by another animal, and along his back were two small bald patches, the absent fur showing his dark skin covered in black, crusty lesions.

“Is he OK?” Sansa questioned, scrunching her nose up at the sight of Stranger’s skin issues.

“Oh yeah, he’ll be fine,” Sandor replied, “Pyoderma, it’s called.  It’s a recurring problem in this particular breed.  Unfortunately for this old guy here, he had a flare up a week or so ago.  I put him on another round of antibiotics to alleviate his symptoms, so he’ll see some improvement soon enough.”

“You put him on antibiotics?” Sansa wondered aloud.

“Aye, that’s what vets do, lass,” he answered as he scratched Stranger behind his good ear.

“Oh, you’re a veterinarian!”

“Guilty as charged.”

Lady, who had been extremely obedient while lying in Sansa’s arms until now, could not stand it any longer.  She wiggled and twisted until she broke free from Sansa’s grasp, jumping down to the floor to assault Stranger with a battery of sniffs and snarls.  Remaining the picture of sheer detachment, Stranger completely ignored the much younger and smaller dog, adding insult to injury by scratching his belly with his back leg instead of paying Lady any attention.

“Lady!” Sansa shouted, “Stop that!”  She frantically tried to scoop Lady up into her arms once more, but the white ball of fur had other plans.  The small dog took off running full steam through the open door of Sandor’s apartment, an action which finally managed to catch Stranger’s attention.  The old dog lumbered to his feet and casually followed Lady inside his own home.

Sandor laughed at Sansa’s horrified expression.  He assumed that Sansa thought that his enormous furry buddy was about to devour her pet alive.  “It’s alright,” he counseled, “Stranger is a gentle giant.  People are always afraid of him when they see him, yet he’s completely harmless.  Well, unless someone were to threaten those he loves…but I digress.  He won’t hurt your little girl.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Sansa exhaled, “Lady has terrible manners, as you can see.  I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied with a grin, walking backward toward his apartment, “I’ll go fetch your dog.  Back in a minute.”

As Sandor disappeared into his place, Sansa couldn’t stop the smile that creeped across her countenance.  Her new neighbor was intriguing to say the least.  Thinking about how he had described Stranger, she couldn’t help but wonder if in fact he hadn’t just inadvertently described himself.

Before she could ponder the matter in any further detail, Sandor emerged from his apartment with Lady nestled under one of his muscular arms.  On his way out the door, he used his free hand to close the front door to prevent any future illegal entries.

“Here you go,” he said as he handed the ball of fluff over to her master, “Good as new.”

When Sansa’s hands came into contact with his, she swore she felt a jolt.  Like a spark had been triggered simply through his touch.  Her eyes darted quickly to meet his.  His face seemed just as puzzled as hers.

“Well, I guess I should get back in there and get ready for work,” Sansa muttered far more breathlessly than she had wanted to sound.  She turned to plop Lady down in her apartment, shutting the door to keep the young dog at bay.

“Right.  Me too,” Sandor rasped, staring hard into her crystal blue eyes as he took his bottom lip behind the top row of his teeth, and unconscious nervous habit he had since childhood.

The two neighbors once again found themselves standing in an awkward silence.

Suddenly, Sandor’s cell phone, which was stuffed into the front pocket of his shorts, started ringing loudly.  The ringtone caused Sansa to burst out in a rather unladylike snort of laughter.

“Really?  ‘Hound Dog?’  How appropriate for a vet!” Sansa giggled.

“What can I say?” he smirked, checking the incoming number, tapping the button to send the call to voice mail.  “Elvis is the King.”

With that jest, Sandor turned around and walked to his apartment.  “I’ll see you around,” he said with a slight wave while reaching for the door knob.

On the spot, Sansa decided to jump into the proverbial fire with both bare feet.

“Say, would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow night?” she blurted out before she could second-guess herself, “I’ll prepare my not-so-famous from-scratch lasagna.  It would be my way of saying thanks for being such an understanding neighbor and all.”

Sandor’s eyes widened slightly as he absorbed her request.  Reaching up to scratch at his chin, running his fingers through his whiskers, he appeared to be contemplating her offer to dine in her abode.

“Sure,” he chuckled finally, shaking his head in defeat, “How can I say no?  If you’re lasagna is as good as that damn bread you made, I’ll eat the whole thing myself.”

That little bout of praise made Sansa’s heart flutter.  Just a little.

“OK, well…” she fumbled, trying desperately to get her act together, “It’s settled.  Knock around 7?”

“Sounds good,” Sandor answered with a smile as he opened his front door and stepped inside.

“Great!  It’s a date!”

Sansa wished that she could eat those last three words as soon as she let them fly out of her stupid mouth.

His head whipped around at that comment, his eyes comically wide like the very first time she had tried to speak to him two months earlier.  Except this time, he didn’t seem angry at her faux pas.  Not one bit.

“It’s…a date, then,” Sandor agreed slowly, an ever-so-slight grin betraying him, “See you tomorrow night.”

As his front door closed, Sansa let out a huge gust of air that she had been holding the entire time since she had made her absurd description about their dinner plans.

Well, it had been an absurd description until the moment he agreed with her, that is.

A date.  She was going to have an honest-to-goodness date with Sandor, the enormous, scarred veterinarian who loves Elvis and the immense older dog with a skin allergy. 

Maybe today wasn’t off to such a bad start after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know what a schnocker is, it's a designer pooch that springs forth from a schnauzer and a cocker spaniel.
> 
> So, how do you think dinner will go once the time finally arrives?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor Clegane is an eccentric veterinarian who prefers the company of animals over the company of people. Yet when he runs across the hall to rescue the gorgeous young lady who sounds like she's being murdered, Sandor's world is turned upside down as he realizes that he doesn't really want to be alone after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was originally conceived as a one-shot, but due to the high-level of requests that I received to continue this story, I am doing just that. This chapter is from Sandor's POV, and it follows the events and dialogue as they unfolded in the previous chapter. So, sit back and enjoy the show!

Sandor Clegane was having a great day.

A really, _really_ great day.

And it was only 7:16 AM.

First, at the sound of his 5:30 AM alarm, he had begrudgingly rolled out of bed, naked as the day he was born.  Stretching and popping his joints as he stood beside his bed, he walked over to his dresser, digging through the drawers until he found his last clean pair of underwear.  After stepping into his blue plaid boxers, he threw on his favorite worn-out t-shirt from college and his black running shorts.  Before leaving his bedroom, he smiled as he reached down to scratch a snoring Stranger behind his good ear, his furry companion snoozing comfortably on its extra-large black orthopedic dog bed that rested at the foot of Sandor’s king-size bed.

Padding down the hallway to his small galley kitchen, Sandor grabbed his cell phone off the charger, shaking his head in disgust while examining the weather report.  An extremely hot and humid forecast today.  Wonderful.  When the fuck was it _not_ hot and humid this time of year in King’s Landing?  On the spot, he opted to forgo his normal three-mile run, deciding instead to head to the gym this evening after work instead of fighting the dense humidity that was already overtaking the city.

As he poured himself a cup of coffee from his automatic machine, he grinned as his tired old mastiff plodded down the hallway to join him for breakfast.  Pouring a bowl of Stranger’s favorite high-end prescription-only kibble, Sandor patted his long-time best friend’s back while Stranger crunched and munched on his carefully balanced diet of complex carbohydrates and real animal proteins with no added fillers.

Although an omelet sounded good for breakfast this hot, muggy morning, Sandor felt a little on the lazy side after having stayed at the clinic so late last night.  He decided to grab a simple bowl of muesli and almond milk, tossing in a few diced strawberries for good measure.  While eating his cereal, Sandor grabbed the legal documents laying on top of the bar by his messenger bag and cell phone, rereading them for the millionth time.

As of today, he was now the legal and rightful owner of Noble Hound Animal Wellness Center, the veterinary clinic at which he had been employed in some capacity for the last 15 years.  Ray was finally going through with his threat to retire after spending nearly 30 years in the field.  For a solid decade, Ray had dreamed of closing shop and travelling the world, and in two weeks’ time, he would be doing just that.

Meanwhile, Sandor would be assuming command of the vet clinic.  He would be the man in charge.  No longer would he simply serve as Ray’s associate partner.  As of today, Sandor would be the sole owner of the facility that his mentor and long-time friend had established all those years ago.  It was a scary feeling, but damn him if it didn’t excite him a little too.

The only problem with this magnificent arrangement, at least in Sandor’s mind, was that he’d now have to figure out how to perform the one facet of veterinary medicine that had eluded him since his early teens when he started out as a volunteer dog walker at Ray’s clinic.

Sandor would actually have to figure out how to have customer service skills.

Aside from Ray, Sandor was the best in the business.  He had both the local and national awards hanging in his office to prove it.  However, folks around King’s Landing called Sandor “The Vet Nazi” because of his cranky disposition and his lack of filter when talking to patrons and to his staff.  His proclivity to drop some rather colorful language while on the job was the stuff of legend among those in the veterinary medicine community.  Even though Sandor’s bedside manner left something to be desired, people literally travelled hours to bring their beloved pets to see Drs. McShane and Clegane because they knew that no animal would ever find better care elsewhere.

Sandor loved animals.  They had been a part of his life since he was old enough to walk.  They provided him the comfort he craved after his accident as a boy, and they never once judged him or teased him about his damaged face or his humungous size.  Sandor may be an eccentric man, but finding a doctor who truly cared for a furry family member more than he did was impossible.

Finished with signing the documents, Sandor tossed his pen onto the bar, shoving the huge stack of paperwork back into his messenger bag.  Glancing at the clock on the microwave, he calculated just how long he had until he needed to jump in the shower.  As Sandor stood, walking across the living room to grab Stranger’s leash from the small silver hook by the front door, he couldn’t help but chuckle at how long it took his old buddy to get up from the warmth of the plush gray dog bed parked in front of the television.

After returning home from their 20-minute stroll, Sandor kicked off his flip flops and sat down on the floor beside Stranger.  Scratching all of his loyal companion’s favorite spots right behind the ears and on the belly, Sandor wondered how the fuck he was going to deal with all of the administrative responsibilities that were coming his way once Ray left the animal clinic.

By Sandor’s choice, Ray handled everything that involved running the clinic behind the scenes.  Yeah, Sandor knew how to operate QuickBooks and all of the other office-running bullshite he needed to know in order to maintain a business.  The problem was, Sandor didn’t really know how to deal with the people all that well.  He had a short fuse that often blew when the staff got on his nerves.  Because Sandor demanded excellence from his employees, just as he demanded it from himself, he literally ran off the last vet tech who had thought that she could be rough with the animals that had been placed in her care.  And the last three receptionists that Ray had hired, Sandor had each of them scrambling for the front door in less than a week because they were either lazy, inept, or late for work three days in a row.  In that order, now that he thought about it.

And then two weeks ago, Ray had hired a new receptionist who had quickly become the bane of Sandor’s existence.  Shae was an attractive, petite, and well-built young woman who not only didn’t put up with Sandor’s shite but regularly called him out on it.  She could go toe-to-toe with Sandor in the foul language department, and Shae drove him batshit crazy with her inability to focus more than two seconds on any given task before flitting about the clinic like some lost old lady at the grocery store looking for a clerk to help her find the Geritol.  Ray, however, adored her, and although he swore up and down that Shae was highly qualified for the position, Sandor knew that Ray had picked her because she was a warm body and because she could handle Sandor and his quirky disposition like it was a walk in the park.  And Ray didn’t hesitate to remind Sandor that if he would be just a little more patient with the hired help, then maybe Ray wouldn’t have to constantly fill the receptionist or vet tech positions.

Sandor smirked as he imagined himself firing that irritating little brunette the minute Ray walked out the door to head to Tahiti or to Tibet or wherever the hell Ray was planning to go as soon as his retirement was official.  Oh, how Sandor would savor the moment that he could finally tell Shae to pack up her shite and get her snarky little mouth out of his office for good.

Lost in the delicious reverie of envisioning himself kicking Shae to the curb, Sandor heard the most ear-piercing, horrific scream imaginable emanating from what sounded like the apartment across the hall.

_What the fuck…_

From the sheer sound of terror resonating from the beautiful young redhead’s apartment, Sandor wasn’t sure if she was being brutally murdered by some sadistic fucker that must have broken into her apartment or if she had just dismembered herself in the garbage disposal.  Either way, the noise that had just exited her mouth was assuredly the call of a lady in dire straits.

Without thinking, Sandor leapt to his feet, grabbing his cell phone off the bar and dashing out his apartment, leaving the front door wide open as he virtually flew across the hallway to the pretty lady’s apartment.  He pressed his good ear to the door, listening for any signs of life.  Nothing.  Not one peep.  Not even her little yap dog that liked to whimper for hours when the lady was gone was making any sort of snort or sniff.

Knocking on her front door loudly, Sandor shouted, “Hey, are you OK?  Everything alright in there?”

Still nothing.  No noise, no reply. 

Telling himself that he probably was overreacting as usual, Sandor took a deep breath, deciding that he would count to ten before he tried to get her attention once again.

_One…two…come on, answer me, damn it…four…five…seriously, lady, open the door and let me know you’re alright…eight…nine…_

When he made it to ten and the pretty lady inside had yet to respond, Sandor’s heart rate shot through the roof.  His imagination finally got the best of him, running down a myriad rabbit trails almost instantaneously as he tried to figure out what might be happening to the well-built redhead right now.

“Woman, answer the door!” he bellowed, hammering his fist on the bloody door so forcefully that the tall, svelte young lady’s next door neighbor cracked open her own front door and stuck her head outside to see what was going on this fine morning.  Sandor’s head snapped sideways, his eyes boring holes into the nosy old bitty who constantly spied on him and reported him to the super for his sundry imagined offenses.  Thankfully, the evil look on his face was enough to make Mrs. Mordane’s eyes bug out and to encourage her to shut her damn door as quickly as she had opened it.

Finally, _finally_ , the young woman spoke.  “Hold on a minute!” she answered.  Sandor could hear her shuffling about inside her apartment as she made her way to the front door.  Within seconds, she opened her door, blocking with her shapely leg her stuffed animal masquerading as a real-life pet from darting out into the hallway.

“I’m...fine,” she chirped, smiling widely at him, “Thanks for checking on me.”

_Dear.  God.  Her blouse…_

Apparently, the young woman had forgotten to fasten her top button this morning while shrieking like a banshee because the neckline of her white blouse was gaping open a little too far for it to have been on purpose.  Even though Sandor didn’t mean to get a good look down her shirt and at her lacey, white push-up bra, having her cleavage on display like that was not something she should expect a red-blooded, heterosexual man not to notice.  And damn if he didn’t notice it fully in all of its pale, lightly freckled glory.

“Well, that’s good, then,” Sandor muttered as he placed his hands on his hips, hoping like hell that she didn’t think he was a jerk for gawking at her even if she did have her teats on display, “That scream of yours sounded like some fucker was in there murdering you.”  Kicking himself internally for sounding so damn pissed off at coming to her unneeded rescue, he wished that he had plugged in his earbuds this morning instead of plotting Shae’s demise.  Then he might have missed attending this embarrassing little tête-a-tête with the gorgeous young woman whom he had been trying desperately to avoid for weeks now.

“No, nothing like that!” she replied, her hot-pink lips curving into an infernally sexy grin, “I just saw…a mouse.”

_You’re shitting me…_

“A mouse?” Sandor chuckled, unable to hide the slight smile that crept across his face, “A little mouse caused you to scream like that?”

The extremely attractive young woman laughed at his response, but in a good way.  Like she was amused.  Could she possibly enjoy talking to him?

“Listen, it wasn’t that little,” she answered, pushing her little white fuzz ball back into her apartment with her calf as it tried to escape, “OK, maybe it was tiny, but seriously, it was on the counter.  It scared the daylights out of me!”

As an awkward silence descended upon them, the young woman’s fluff ball decided to appear ferocious, growling and posturing at something it saw behind Sandor.  He laughed inwardly, knowing full well that her pooch probably had caught sight of Stranger who most likely was poised in the doorway watching the entire fiasco unfold.

“Lady, hush!” the attractive redhead said as her eyes tracked toward the object of her little white dog’s wrath.  Without turning around to see what had caused her pale blue eyes to widen, Sandor knew that his assessment of the situation had been correct.

Deciding it was high-time to retreat, Sandor tried to exit with as much dignity as he could muster, considering how much he had overreacted to the pretty woman’s scream, “OK, well, I’m glad you’re alright,” he said, nodding in her direction as a tacit good-bye, “I’ll be off, then.”

“Wait!” she called out, bending down to scoop her fuzzy dog named Lady into her arms and stepping out into the hall, “Do you have a minute?”

Much to his chagrin, the young woman did not allow him to slink back into the depths of his private world.  He should have known, really.  From her performances both the day he moved into this God forsaken building and from the little show she put on down in the laundry room just a week later, Sandor knew that she was going to try to make small talk with him.  And he really, really sucked at small talk.

_Fuck.  I knew it.  Great.  Now she’ll see how much of a screw up you really are, Clegane._

Slowly turning to face her once again, he fired off a question in response to her question, “Don’t you have to be at work or something right now?”  He seriously hoped that she would remember that she was due to leave in less than 8 minutes to head downstairs to her light blue, older model Ford Focus and drive off to wherever it is that she worked.  Not that he had noticed her routine over the last two months or anything.

Apparently, the gods decided instead to torture him for sport today.

“Yeah, I do.  But I’m already going to be late.  A few more minutes won’t make that much of a difference.”  She stood just outside her doorway in the hall, clutching her fuzzball in one arm, looking at him like she desperately wanted to carry on a conversation.  How could a woman so exasperatingly beautiful want to talk to a man that looked like him?

“Alright, then,” Sandor replied as he walked toward her.  Although this lovely lady was above average in height, he towered over her, but that was nothing new.  He towered over everyone.  Everyone except for his older brother, Gregor, the giant ass much.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry if I’ve annoyed you or come off like some total loser,” she began, smiling widely while staring him right in the eyes, “I just wanted to introduce myself and be a good neighbor.  I haven’t done a good job of that so far, that’s for sure!”

Staring down at her, Sandor felt his whole demeanor softening against his will.  It had taken him years to perfect his aloof, disengaged persona when in the presence of women.  On the rare occasion when a woman showed enough interest in him to get him to let his guard down, it always turned out that they had just wanted to get into his pants and wanted nothing more.  Always.  Not that he didn’t take from them what was offered.  He knew that aside from his scars, some women found his body appealing long enough for a curiosity fuck.  But somehow this young woman was not sending off that kind of vibe.  She actually seemed interested in getting to know him.

“You don’t say?” he replied, folding his arms across his broad chest in an unconscious defensive move and leaning his weight onto one foot.  Cocking his one eyebrow left from the accident years past, he actually found himself wanting to talk to her.

She giggled at his comment, rolling her sky-blue eyes at him, “Yeah, I know.”  For the briefest of moments, Sandor actually caught himself wanting her to want to talk to him.

“So, are you going to accept my apology or what?” the young woman asked as she stepped closer to him.  He had to look straight down now to see her, she was that close.  “Because if you don’t, there’s no more cinnamon bread for you, sir.”

_What the…is she flirting with me?_

When Sandor had first laid eyes on the beautiful woman the day that he moved into this confounded building two months ago, he had seen the lithe young lady jogging down the sidewalk as he collected the last few boxes from the rental van.  She was tall, curvy, and drop-dead gorgeous.  Trying hard _not_ to look, he turned his head away, glancing at her pert posterior on the sly as she bounded up the steps two at a time to the front door of his building.  Sandor wanted to bend over and kick his own ass once he realized that the lovely lass in the skin-tight hot pink tank top and black running shorts lived in the same building as he did.  _Of course_ , she did.

Then as he hauled his last suitcase up the stairs of their building, whom should he find standing on his doorstep but the very woman who had almost given him a hard-on out in the parking lot not 30 minutes earlier.  When her face mutated into a look of horror, however, Sandor’s daydream that this mystery woman would fall madly in love with him once he had the balls to approach her died on the vine.  As he bit her head off for freaking out at the sight of him, yanking her neighborly welcome gift that smelled delicious right out of her well-manicured hand, he slammed the door shut in her pretty face and destroyed any romantic notions that he may have very briefly entertained.

“I’m no sir,” he replied, narrowing his silver eyes, unconsciously wetting his lips with his tongue, “But damn me if I don’t want a crack at another round of that bread you made.  So yeah, you’re forgiven.”

“Thank you,” she replied as she held her furry little yap box closely to her bountiful bosom, “I’m Sansa, by the way.”

_Sansa.  Her name is Sansa…damn it, man, stop staring at her mouth!_

“Sandor,” he offered tersely with a nod of his head, praying rapidly that she didn’t want to shake his sweaty hand right now.

“Nice to meet you, Sandor.”

“Likewise.”

As Sansa began chatting with him and asking him about Stranger, who had decided to come out to see what was keeping his master from finishing that belly rub, Sandor’s brain began to shut down.  He knew that his mouth was moving and that various words were coming out in reply to her questions, but damn it, he felt as if he was moving in a thick, dense fog of happiness.  The young woman was talking to him of her own free will, looking him directly in the eyes and speaking to him as if he were some normal looking bloke.  And although he never gambled, Sandor would’ve bet his vintage Elvis ’56 first release LP that Sansa was actually interested in him.

Even when her silly little dog jumped out of her arms and bolted into his apartment, Sandor continued to bumble through his interaction with Sansa.  When he walked into his apartment and found her live-action toy helping itself to Stranger’s left over breakfast, he couldn’t help but laugh out loud.  The giant black mastiff was bent over the fluffy white dog with his graying muzzle shoved between her legs, giving Lady’s posterior a good sniff of approval.

“C’mon, mate,” Sandor chuckled as he put his large hands on his hips, “At least let the lady finish her meal before you start with that.”  Shooing Stranger to the side, Sandor scooped Sansa’s petite dog into his massive arms, laughing at his old dog’s greeting as he returned to the hallway with Lady in tow, making sure to shut his front door on his way out.

Sansa’s smile was the kind of smile that could bring a man to his knees.  Standing in her presence, Sandor felt like his own were going to buckle at any given minute when she told him that she needed to finish getting ready for work.  He did too, but he would’ve called in sick for the first time in his entire career if she had wanted to stand there and talk to him the rest of the day.

And before Sandor could think of something, anything, to drag out this little heart-to-heart just a tad longer, his stupid cell phone rang, bouncing around in the front pocket of his shorts and waking him up from his trance.

“Really?  ‘Hound Dog?’  How appropriate for a vet!” Sansa giggled as he fumbled to see who it was.  Bronn.  Of course.  Who else would call him this damn early in the morning?  Well, the cunt would have to wait.

“What can I say?” Sandor smiled as he sent Bronn’s phone call to voice mail.  “Elvis is the King.”  With that jest, Sandor realized that he had run out of witty things to say.  So he opted to flee, turning around to return to the safety of his apartment.  He could feel his heart racing in his enormous chest.  Sansa’s attention to him was on the verge of causing him do something very stupid.  Like asking her out to lunch.  Or inviting her inside his apartment for a cup of coffee.  And the last female who had been in any of his residences was Ray’s now deceased wife, Gwen, who passed away over a decade ago.

“I’ll see you around,” Sandor muttered, waving at her slightly as he reached for the handle of his front door.

“Say, would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow night?” she blurted out before he could escape into the solitude of his abode, “I’ll prepare my not-so-famous from-scratch lasagna.  It would be my way of saying thanks for being such an understanding neighbor and all.”

As he processed her request, Sandor could feel his mouth go dry.  She had just invited him into her apartment.  For a homecooked meal.  On the surface as a peace offering, yes, but Sandor knew that for some reason only known to the gods, Sansa obviously was interested in him.  Why else would a young lady grab a man’s boxer shorts and offer to fold them?

“Sure,” he chuckled as he shook his head in wonder, “How can I say no?  If you’re lasagna is as good as that damn bread you made, I’ll eat the whole thing myself.”  And he was serious when he said that, too.

Sansa’s whole face lit up with pleasure at his acceptance of her offer.  While she beamed widely at him, Sandor wished that he could look upon that smile every damn day of his life.

“OK, well…it’s settled.  Knock around 7?” Sansa asked, worrying her bottom lip nervously.

“Sounds good,” Sandor answered, trying extremely hard not to stare at her as he smiled and stepped inside his home.

“Great!  It’s a date!”

_A date…did she just…bloody buggering fuck…she’s calling it a date!_

When his head whipped around rapidly, his shoulder-length black hair momentarily blinding him, Sandor studied her face.  She was serious.  She meant this dinner to be a date, not just an oversized apology.

“It’s…a date, then,” Sandor agreed slowly, a small grin betraying him as he desperately tried not to act like a complete moron by jumping in the air to click his heels in glee, “See you tomorrow night.”

Quickly shutting his front door, he flopped the back of his head against the door, sliding along his back all the way down to the floor as Stranger shuffled over to greet him.  As Stranger nuzzled Sandor’s face with his own, giving his master a sloppy lick right across the scars, Sandor let out the breath he had been holding since the moment he heard Sansa tell him she was terrified of a damn little mouse.

“Well, buddy, it looks like your daddy might have made a new friend today,” Sandor grinned, scratching Stranger behind both ears at the same time, “Let’s see if I can make it through the first date without fucking it up as usual.”

Damn him if this day wasn’t off to one hell of a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else love it when Sandor called himself "daddy" when talking to Stranger?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally arriving at work, Sansa relives the glory of her bravery in asking Sandor to come over for dinner tomorrow night. At lunch, she discusses Sandor with her friend, Margarey Tyrell, who tries to offer Sansa advice on dating a neighbor. Then Sansa's boss, Petyr Baelish, makes a calculated move that inadvertently puts Sansa in need of a boyfriend...in less than two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm betting that Sansa knows just the man to fill the position of "fake boyfriend" come Sunday night.

As it turned out, Sansa Stark’s day went terribly well.

That is, until her boss decided to make her feel terribly uncomfortable.

First, after watching Sandor disappear into the depths of his apartment, Sansa went back inside her own to feed Lady her breakfast.  Watching her ball of fuzz whine and scratch with her little white paws at the pantry door, Sansa suddenly remembered that in order to grab the bag of kibble for Lady’s breakfast, she would have to open the very door that could possibly lead to a face-to-face encounter with the tiny gray rodent that had sent her reeling in terror not so long ago.

Opting to forgo Lady’s kibble ration this morning until she could figure out what to do about the mouse, Sansa rooted around in her refrigerator, opting to pull together a few leftover items from her take-out lunch yesterday that would be a suitable substitute.  If Lady could talk, Sansa was quite certain that her loyal companion would have moaned in ecstasy as Lady horked down the niblets of chicken and potatoes that had found its way into her pink and purple dog dish.

Reaching into her utility drawer, grabbing a sticky note to jot down a reminder to call the super about her sudden infestation when she got to work, Sansa shoved the note into her black handbag hanging on the hook by the front door.  When she collected her black pumps from both her burgundy couch and the space between her striped armchair and television where they had landed during her earlier freak out, she quickly walked back to her bedroom to toss them into her closet and go with her black ballet flats since she no longer had time to run by the convenience store to grab a pair of pantyhose.   Catching sight of herself in the floor-length mirror poised in the corner by her cherry dresser, Sansa gasped in horror.

Her white blouse was wide-open at the neckline, gaping like she was desperately trying to dress like some caricature of a secretary in some cheesy porn flick.  In her haste to prevent Sandor from his intention to kick down her front door and to save her from an unknown foe, she had forgotten that her button had made a break for it right down the air vent while she was getting dressed.  The top of her lacey white push-up bra was on full display, and she could only imagine how much of a birds-eye view her intriguing neighbor had received, thanks to his humungous size.  Literally giving herself a face-palm, Sansa shook her head, cursing to herself as she yanked off the blouse, tossing it onto the floor before rooting around in her closet for an appropriate shirt to wear to her office job.

Satisfied with her pale pink floral blouse, Sansa hurried to take Lady out for a quick walk before heading to work.  Lady was eager to go longer, but after only ten minutes, Sansa brought her frustrated but relieved schnocker back inside, petting her vigorously and apologizing for not having enough time for a proper adventure.  Promising Lady a longer walk tonight when she got home, Sansa grabbed her purse and rushed to her car.

Although Sansa was almost fifteen minutes late to work, her employer and direct supervisor, Petyr Baelish, simply smiled his usual unnerving grin, telling her that she need not worry because she was such a valuable asset to his small accounting firm, The Masters of Coin.  He patted her shoulder gently while she sat at her desk, teasing her that even though she had been very naughty, he would overlook her slight transgression.  Feeling Petyr’s thin hand on her body made her shiver.  He always had a way of saying the most innocuous of comments yet somehow managing to lace them so full of innuendo or hidden meaning that Sansa spent hours trying to decipher what he truly meant.

When Sansa had interviewed for the administrative assistant position at his business almost nine months ago, Petyr had hired her on the spot once he found out she was Catelyn Tully Stark’s daughter.  As it turned out, he had gone to high school in the same grade with her mother, Catelyn, in their home town over in Eyrieville.  Even if he didn’t admit it freely, Sansa could tell that he must have had a serious crush on her mom, who had been quite the beauty back in the day, by the way he gushed about her mother.

Petyr was an attractive man with dark hair that was graying at the temples, and in her flats, Sansa looked him right in the eye.  He was a generous employer, paying her handsomely for her secretarial duties at the firm and always bestowing ample praise on her work.  He never complained directly, instead couching his displeasure with something she had done in such a fashion that Sansa felt so awful for making him unhappy that she would inadvertently volunteer to work extra on Saturdays to make it up to him.  There was something in Petyr’s lack of personal space and his proclivity to touch her that made Sansa uneasy at times, but she would just shake it off, telling herself that she was being silly.

Her close friend, Margaery Tyrell, thought differently.  Curvy, blonde, and built like a goddess, Margaery had met Sansa at The Reach, a trendy fitness club at which Margaery was a personal trainer and instructor, when Sansa had first moved to King’s Landing after taking the job at Masters of Coin.  Sansa had tried to keep up in Margaery’s Pilates and spinning classes, but she was not the most athletically gifted young lady.  However, it only took Margaery three classes of watching Sansa struggle haplessly with the equipment to offer to assist Sansa in the gym for free for a few sessions until Sansa got on her feet.  The two young professional women hit it off, becoming fast-friends even though they were totally opposite in temperament.

Over the last nine months, Margaery had continually warned Sansa to start applying for a job elsewhere.  Hearing Sansa’s descriptions of Petyr and his on-the-job demeanor, Margaery was convinced that Petyr had designs on Sansa, and if she wasn’t careful, he’d figure out a way to strike when Sansa least expected.  A perpetual optimist who saw the best in people, even Sansa had to agree that Margaery may be onto something.

Spending the morning either stuck at her desk while juggling phone calls or trudging back and forth to the copier as requested by her boss, Sansa kept her head down, trying to appear completely absorbed in the tasks at hand.  Unfortunately, her brain felt slightly fuzzy this hot and steamy Friday, thanks mostly to her excitement in anticipation of having dinner with Sandor tomorrow night.  She couldn’t help but replay the events as they unfolded in her hallway this morning over and over again ad nauseam, grinning like the proverbial bird that caught the worm each and every time the memories flitted through her head.  She had gotten the balls to ask Sandor out on a date, conveniently disguised as an apology for acting like a goober the last two times he’d spoken to her, and to her delight, he had accepted.  That had to mean something good, right?

The last date she had been on was so long ago, it had happened before she’d even moved to King’s Landing for her job.  Although she wasn’t quite ready to jump into the sack with a total stranger on the first date no matter how sexy (yes, damn it, _sexy_ ) he seemed, Sansa’s train of thought this morning more often than not seemed content to languish in Lustville while she punched holes and color coded customer files.

By the time lunch rolled around, Sansa couldn’t get out the front door of her office fast enough to make it to her weekly lunch date with Margaery.  As the two beautiful young women sat inside of Hotpie’s Café, Margaery’s blue eyes were narrowed in confusion as she absorbed all of the details about how Sansa’s rendezvous with her enormous neighbor across the hall went down this morning.

“Let me get this straight,” Margaery said as she waved her empty fork around in the air, “You saw a mouse, you freaked, the neighbor rode in on his noble steed, and then you invited said neighbor over for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Mm-hmm,” Sansa smirked as she finished her sip of her lemonade, “I sure did!”

“The same giant, scary looking neighbor whom you pissed off royally way back when?” Margaery added, stabbing another bite of her chipotle chicken salad.

“I never said he was scary.  I said he was _scarred_ ,” Sansa huffed, picking at the remnants of her grilled veggie sandwich and fries.

Margaery’s blonde eyebrow cocked as she grinned widely, “You told me that half of his face looked like it had melted.  I’d say that’s pretty scary.”

Sansa rolled her eyes at Margaery’s description.  “Really?  If I remember it right, I told you that it looked like half of his face had been badly burned.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s _not_ the same thing

“OK, fine.  But doesn’t that bother you?” Margaery asked as she tilted her head to the side, studying Sansa intently.

Sansa paused as she thought about Sandor before she replied.  “No, actually, it doesn’t.  He’s actually quite handsome.”

“Handsome?”

“Yes, handsome.”

“You’re OK with scars now but not with tattoos?”

“Would you quit?  I already told you months ago that they didn’t bother me.”

“Which one?”

“Both, actually.”

“If you don’t mind tattoos, then you should have let me set you up with Daario,” Margaery grinned, “You so need to get laid.  And trust me, he would’ve been more than happy to oblige.”

“Seriously?” Sansa laughed, “OK, I’ll admit it.  It’s been quite some time for me in that department, but I want more than just ‘getting laid,’ as you so eloquently put it.  What I actually want is a real relationship, thank you very much.  That’s why I said ‘no’ to going out with your man-whore coworker at the gym.”

“And you think this guy across the hall is what you need?” Margaery asked as she put her fork down on her empty plate and shoved it aside.

“I don’t know,” Sansa replied, worrying her bottom lip as she wondered if Sandor would ask to kiss her when he left tomorrow night, “But I’m dying to find out.”  As the server came by their table, Margaery motioned for him to bring their check.

“Alright, Stark, I’m in.  What sort of intel have you collected on this intriguing neighbor of yours?” Margaery teased, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms in front of her chest.

“Well, he told me his name is Sandor,” Sansa smiled as she reached for her glass of lemonade, “He’s tall.  _Way_ tall, like at least six and a half feet or something.  He’s a veterinarian, so I’m guessing he’s around 30?  He has an enormous, black mastiff named Stranger.  Oh, and he really seems to like Elvis.”

As Margaery digested her friend’s limited knowledge, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the edge of the table, “Sansa, honey,” Margaery began, “I can tell that you really want to get to know this guy.  And that’s perfectly fine.  Who knows?  Maybe you two will hit it off, fall madly in love, get married, and make lots of tall babies.”

Sansa couldn’t help but giggle at Margaery’s sweeping summarization of how one date would turn out.  Of course, Margaery was highly dramatic, even if she was a realist, so it didn’t surprise Sansa too much when that comment was let loose.

“I haven’t even been on one date with Sandor yet, and now you envision me breeding with him?” Sansa laughed loudly.

Joining in with her redheaded pal, Margaery giggled at the way she had described her highly successful version of Sansa’s first date.  As the server placed their checks on the table, Margaery reached across the small table to pat Sansa’s hand.

“But…have you thought about what will happen if you change your mind and _don’t_ want to get to know him?” Margaery asked with the utmost sincerity in her voice.

Sansa’s nose scrunched as she thought about what Margaery had said, “No, not really.”

Margaery continued, “Think about it for a minute…is it wise to start something with a neighbor?  I mean, what if the date is horrible?  What if the guy turns out to be a loser?  Or what if he tries something?  Worse yet, what if you fall hard for the dog doc and then he dumps you?  You’ll have to deal with that for the rest of your natural-born life unless you move the hell out of that complex.  Do you _really_ want to go there?”

Sansa carefully considered Margaery’s litany of reasons why pursuing any sort of relationship with the man living directly across the hall from her could have horrific results.  The buffet was full of cringe-worthy possibilities.  Any or all of those potential disasters sounded plausible. 

No matter.  Sansa was curious.  And damn that proverbial cat, she had a gut feeling that the satisfaction part would be so worth it.

“Yes,” Sansa grinned as she placed her own hand on top of Margaery’s, “Yes, I do.”

After lunch, Sansa returned to the office, throwing herself into her work, fully intent on finishing out her day and heading to the grocery store to pick up the items she needed to make the lasagna she had promised Sandor.  Sansa’s mother was a phenomenal cook, and she had spent countless hours while living at home hovering around her mother in the kitchen.  Thankfully, Sansa had most of her mom’s recipes committed to memory.  She loved to cook.  And she especially loved to bake.

As Sansa considered the dessert options that she could prepare to accompany their meal while counting down the last few minutes of her work day, Petyr appeared virtually out of nowhere.

“So, Sansa,” Petyr began, his lips curved into a slight smile underneath his dark mustache, “There is a gala event being held this Sunday night at the art museum.  It’s the grand unveiling of their latest exhibit.”

“Oh, really?” Sansa chirped, half-listening to Petyr ramble as she cleared her desk for Monday.

“Indeed.  The museum will have on display a rather substantial collection of ancient Dothraki art and sculpture.  Drinks, heavy hors d’oeuvres, a string quartet…it will be a most fascinating event, I’m sure.”  As Petyr finished his description, he stepped to the side of Sansa’s L-shaped office desk, effectively blocking her exit.  This simple action should not raise her hackles, but tonight, Petyr’s movements seemed almost predatory.

“It sounds very interesting,” Sansa bumbled, not quite sure where this conversation was headed.  Continuing to smile at him yet feeling less and less comfortable in his presence, she wished that she wasn’t alone in the office right now since the rest of her coworkers had already left to start their weekend.

Petyr’s lips curved into a sinful grin.  “Since I’m an extremely generous contributor to the museum, I’m sponsoring a table.  I’m requiring that my support staff attend the event as well.  A little mandatory art education, if you will,” he smirked as he sat down on the corner of her desk.

_Wait, what?_

“That…that sounds like fun,” Sansa lied, trying desperately to appear unfazed by Petyr’s demands.

“I’m absolutely certain that you will have a fabulous time,” Petyr added, his tongue quickly swiping his bottom lip, “I will personally see to that.”

“Well, I’ll see if Daisy or Ros want to carpool,” Sansa said as she silently reassured herself that with the other eleven employees of Masters of Coin present at the gala, the night would definitely not feel like a date.

“Oh, Sansa,” Petyr chuckled as he reached out to pat her forearm, his hand lingering too long to be completely innocent in motivation, “Don’t be silly!  I would be more than happy to pick you up and bring you back to your apartment since I don’t live too far from you.”

_What the…_

Margaery’s words suddenly echoed in Sansa’s brain.  _“Mark my words, Sansa.  Your boss wants to supervise you in more ways than one.  Be careful around him!”_

Without thinking, Sansa blurted out a question, “Are guests welcome?”

“Guests?” Petyr replied, his dark eyebrow raising in question.

“I mean, could we bring our spouses?”

“I suppose so.  Assuming you had one, that is.”

“Well, yeah, I know,” Sansa laughed nervously, “I’m not married…but I mean, could I bring my boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” Petyr smiled broadly as his head titled to the side, the action not quite matching the coldness emanating from his narrowed blue eyes, “Forgive me, Sansa, I wasn’t aware that you had a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, it’s really new and all,” she said as she reached up with her left hand to nervously scratch the back of her neck, “I haven’t told anyone here yet.”

“Why, yes.  Of course, Sansa.  You’re welcome to bring him with you.  I look forward to meeting the lucky young man who has captured your affections.”  Petyr stood to his full height, continuing to study Sansa as if she were under a microscope.  “I’ll see you and your _boyfriend_ on Sunday, then.  Seven o’clock, sharp.  Be sure to dress appropriately for the occasion.”

As Petyr slightly bowed in her direction before returning to his office, Sansa let out the breath she had been holding since their conversation started.  A boyfriend.  She hadn’t had a boyfriend since high school, and the last guy she went out on a date with was Harry, the arrogant jerk that she’d met while working at the college bookstore during her senior year at Crownlands College of Business.  And that lasted all of two dates before she kicked him to the curb.

If Sansa could have contorted her body such that she could have kicked her own ass, she would have done so in a heartbeat.

 _What in the hell were you thinking?_ she admonished herself as she powered down her computer and grabbed her handbag, _Where in the world are you going to come up with a fake boyfriend in less than two days?_

Like a flash of light from the heavens above, an image of the tall, well-built veterinarian who lived across the hall popped into her head.  While opening her car door, tossing her handbag onto the passenger seat and flopping inside the vehicle, Sansa wondered if maybe she could convince Sandor to go along with such a nefarious scheme.

_Yeah, right.  I bet he’s just dying to play along with your stupid plan.  Yup.  That’s going to work._

When Sansa arrived at her apartment complex, too frazzled to actually make the trip to the grocery store tonight to prepare for her dinner plans tomorrow with Sandor, she bounded up the front steps of her building.  Approaching her apartment, she noticed a small present sitting beside her front door.  Shocked and curious at the same time, Sansa’s eyes darted around the hallway, wondering who had left the tiny rainbow striped box topped with the huge pink bow on her welcome mat.  Unlocking the front door, Sansa hurried inside her apartment, much to the delight of her wound-tight pooch who yipped and whinnied as Sansa tossed her keys and handbag onto the bar.

“Hey, Lady,” Sansa grinned at her fluffy friend as she scratched and rubbed her little companion, “Just give me one second, and I promise we’ll go for that walk.”

While Lady fell onto the floor, rolling over to expose her belly just in case her master was interested in a belly rub, Sansa returned her attention to the mystery present.  Noticing the attached note, Sansa pulled it of the white envelope, smiling like a complete moron when she read the inscription:

_"Thought you might be needing one of these.  Use it.  Your neighbor’s sanity is at stake here, woman."_

And when she opened the small gift, Sansa burst out laughing so hard that she made her sides hurt.  A mousetrap.  A no-kill mouse trap with hand-written instructions on what to do when the mouse was caught.

“You know what, Lady,” Sansa giggled, “Mommy just might have found a fake boyfriend after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder how Sandor's Friday went...anyone else wondering the same thing?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While getting ready for work, Sandor decides to put a little extra effort into his appearance, thanks to his pending dinner date with Sansa. Feeling like he is on top of the world, once Sandor arrives at work, however, he is completely flummoxed by Ray, who shares with Sandor some extremely surprising news. Then on his way home, Sandor decides to take the proverbial bull by the horns to let Sansa know that he's interested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's find out how Sandor's Friday in King's Landing turns out, shall we?

As it turned out, Sandor Clegane’s day went terribly well.

That is, until Ray decided to make him feel terribly uncomfortable.

Standing in his steam-filled bathroom after finishing his shower, clad only in his oversized navy bath towel wrapped low around his chiseled hips, Sandor studied himself in the mirror hanging above the sink.  It was the first time in a very long time that he had actually bothered to take a good look at the face he so hated to see.  He pulled aside the right side of his damp hair, turning his head slightly to examine the destruction left behind from his childhood accident.

Looking intently at his face, Sandor sighed.  The countless hours of his childhood spent in recovery from the numerous reconstructive surgeries had at least left his once-mangled flesh such that he wouldn’t scare young children while walking Stranger in the park.  A sweet, gentle boy before the accident, Sandor’s disposition radically changed afterwards, all but devouring him in his early teens after the death of his father.  If it hadn’t been for Ray and his wife, Gwen, taking Sandor into their home and under their wings after Sandor’s father died, his life most likely would have followed the same path as his worthless, career criminal older brother, Gregor.

Over the years with much trial and error, Sandor had completely given up on finding love, deciding that he would rather spend the rest of his life alone like Quasimodo than to endure one more blind date at the hands of Ray or Bronn, his buddy from high school.  Perfectly content with his decision to embrace being single, Sandor focused his energies on the hundreds of animals who had been placed under his care at Noble Hound over the last several years.  He loved animals, and no matter how pitiful his attempts were to get along with people, Sandor never failed to relate to the critters brought to the clinic.

Sandor didn’t mind being alone all that much anymore.  He had Stranger, his longtime companion.  That dog was his best friend.  Stranger had been with Sandor through thick and thin these last eight years since Sandor had taken in the enormous pooch after he found the scared, mistreated, young mastiff puppy lurking among the dumpsters of his vet school.  Sandor also had Ray, his surrogate father, and he had Bronn, his pal since their second year at King’s Landing Academy.  And if a man isn’t looking for a lady to love, then worrying about his hair or clothes just seems like a fucking royal waste of time, now doesn’t it?

Then for some bizarre reason, the lovely redheaded neighbor appeared on the scene and rocked his world with her damn delicious cinnamon bread and her dainty, boxer-folding hands.  Why she seemed so intent on shoving her way onto his radar, he honestly had no clue.  When she tried to be friendly to him two months ago, Sandor had locked up and locked down, choosing to hide in his apartment and to slink by unnoticed each and every time he opened his front door for the rest of his life rather than actually allow himself a chance to get to know the attractive, well-built young redhead.  As beautiful as she was, Sandor feared that even if he did try his damnedest to act civilly, it wouldn’t take her long to tell him to go bite himself like most folks would.

Just thinking about Sansa caused a dopey smile to overtake him.  Grinning at himself in the mirror as he scratched his full, dark beard, Sandor allowed himself to feel a little giddy at the thought that such a beautiful young woman had actually asked him over to her place for a meal.  He didn’t care if her lasagna wound up tasting like a cardboard box, he’d still smile like a fool, choking down the entire thing and asking for more if it meant that he could see her again.  She was drop-dead gorgeous with a body that could put the gods to shame.  That wasn’t why he had let his guard down this time, though.  OK, that was definitely part of it, but what he really wanted was the chance to get to know her.  He’d tried to hide, but damn him, he just couldn’t escape her allure. 

Sandor decided on the spot that today, he would spend more than 90 seconds getting ready for work.  Rooting around in the bottom of the cabinet underneath his bathroom sink, he unearthed a tube of some ancient hair gel that had been languishing in the deep, dark recesses of his bin of toiletry items which rarely saw the light of day.  Quickly reading the “how-to” on the back, Sandor squirted a dime-size amount into his enormous palm, slapping his hands together and working the goop into his long mane.  He carefully dried his hair with an equally antiquated hair dryer that he had bought back in college the last time he had cared about his appearance during that one semester he was partnered with the pretty young lady in his clinical pathology class.  Satisfied with his efforts, Sandor chuckled to himself as he spritzed himself with the brand-new bottle of cologne that one of the vet techs had given him for Christmas last year.

Having been invited to dinner by his lovely neighbor across the hall had decidedly put a spring into Sandor’s step this hot, muggy morning.

Finished getting dressed, Sandor called to Stranger, signaling their departure for work.  Slinging his brown leather messenger bag over his shoulder, Sandor led his buddy out of their apartment, descending down the hallway and the staircase to Sandor’s older model black Chevy Suburban parked out front of the apartment building.  Once Stranger nestled himself in the rear where the seats were folded down to give him plenty of room, Sandor headed toward the clinic.  As he drove, singing along with the oldies channel, Sandor couldn’t help but grin at the thought that as of today, Ray would be working his last day at the clinic, his retirement in full-swing come five o’clock as Sandor assumed ownership of the facility today.

And that meant come Monday, Shae would be shown the front door, taking her obnoxious comments and her petite, boho chic-self right on over to the unemployment office.

Lost in the glory of once again imagining how he would dispatch Shae, Sandor arrived at Noble Hound.  Spending all that damn time shuffling his hair back and forth and trying to find something to wear to the clinic besides his faded scrubs was more of a challenge than he had initially anticipated, so he wound up being a few minutes late.  Ready to dive head-first into his work day, Sandor parked into his space in the rear of the clinic, hopping out and taking Stranger to the bushes for a quick bathroom break before walking in through the main door.

“Good morning, Shae,” Sandor bellowed loudly as he marched inside the waiting room with Stranger by his side.  Nodding hello to the three clients and their pets as they waited to be seen, he shot Shae a wink as he willingly instigated their first verbal sparring match of the day, “It’s certainly a magnificent day today, wouldn’t you agree?”

Shae’s dark brown eyes narrowed suspiciously as she scanned his eager face, “It’s too damn hot outside already, and it’s only going to get worse.  What has gotten into you?”

“Oh, nothing really,” Sandor grinned widely while drumming his fingers on the raised portion of the reception desk where Shae sat.  Without even the slightest bit of shyness, Shae eyeballed him from head to toe, cocking her dark eyebrow in appreciation, taking note that her boss had gone above and beyond the call of duty this morning.

“A polo and khakis?” Shae muttered, a slight smirk sneaking across her visage, “And dress shoes?  No scrubs and sneakers?  Uh-huh.  Now I know you’re up to something, Dr. C.”

“Ah, there it is.  ‘Dr. C.’  I knew that you couldn’t stop yourself,” Sandor smiled as he leaned onto the counter with one elbow while Stranger sat attentively watching his master’s every move, “You know how I _hate_ it when you call me that.”

“Trust me.  It’s much better than what I’d like to call you,” Shae snarked, leaning back in her blue swivel chair, folding her arms in front of her chest.

Sandor stood to his full, impressive height, throwing his head back as he laughed thunderously, an action that caused the folks in the waiting room, including Shae, to jump in their seats.  “Shae, it’s been a pleasure as always,” he said as he started walking toward the hall leading to the exam rooms and to his office.  Abruptly spinning on his heels before disappearing from sight, Sandor turned to shoot Shae a mock military-style salute as he sang a few bars of Elvis at the top of his lungs, “I got a woman, mean as she can be; Sometimes I think she’s almost mean as me.”

After tossing his messenger back onto the charcoal visitor’s chair sitting across from his maple pedestal desk, Sandor rifled through his stack of messages and quickly scanned the playlist of clients for his upcoming day at the clinic.  Nothing unusual for his day.  Simple routine exams and one poor little bastard to neuter before lunch, and the afternoon was virtually the same.

“Good morning, Sandor!” Ray beamed as he knocked on Sandor’s open office door, “You think you’re ready?  You’re the man in charge here come five o’clock, remember.  No more good-old Ray to come clean up behind you, lad.”

Sandor laughed at Ray’s description of his customer service skills.  “I’m as ready as I’m going to be, I’m afraid,” Sandor grinned as Ray entered his office, seating himself in one of the visitor’s chairs across from him, “I’ve been reading that self-help book you gave me, though.  All that being positive and patient bullshite I’ve been trudging through may be starting to rub off on me.  I didn’t even cuss at Shae this morning when she baited me.”

“Well, well.  Will wonders never cease!” Ray laughed, clapping his hands together.  As Sandor moved to grab his lab coat, Ray cleared his throat before continuing, “Say, now that you mention Shae…do you have a minute before your first appointment?”

Stopping short before reaching his lab coat, Sandor’s silver eyes narrowed in confusion.  “Is this about keeping Shae on board after you leave?” he asked, turning to face Ray, “Because we’ve already had this conversation, Ray.  You know I love you like a father, but that extraordinarily annoying little woman is out the door on her ass the minute - ”

“Actually, son, she’ll be turning in her notice to you today,” Ray said, slightly coughing to clear his throat yet again.

 _What in the…did I just hear him right?_ Sandor thought to himself, _Shae’s going to quit?  Bugger me sideways!_

As the thought of ridding himself of Shae so easily danced throughout his head, Sandor flopped into his black leather executive chair.  “You’re shitting me!” he exclaimed as his eyes widened eagerly, “Don’t tease me, now, because that would be just cruel.” 

Ray shook his head as he chuckled, “No, I’m not teasing you.  She’s asked that today be her last day…if you’re fine with her not working out a notice, that is.”

Leaning back in his office chair, Sandor banged the arms of his seat with both hands, “Notice?  No, no!  I don’t need any sort of notice!”  He couldn’t believe this stroke of luck that had fallen right into his enormous lap.  If Shae quite voluntarily, he didn’t even have to pay her unemployment until she found another job.  Could this day get any better?

“I’m so happy right now, Ray, I do believe I could kiss you,” Sandor laughed as he rubbed his dark beard with his hand.  “This day may go down in history as one of the happiest days of my life.”

“Now, calm yourself down,” Ray admonished as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “You haven’t heard the rest of what I have to say.”

“Right now, old man,” Sandor chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief at how fortunate the turn of events of his day had become thus far, “You could tell me that you murdered Podrick and buried him out in the dumpster for all I care.  Nothing can ruin this moment!”

“I’m in love with Shae,” Ray muttered without introduction.

_What…the…_

“Come again?” Sandor whispered, his eyes widening comically as he momentarily lost the ability to breathe.  His chest constricted like he had just been sucker-punched in the gut.  He was quite certain that the room was about to spin on its axis as Ray continued to speak.

“Shae and I…well, we’re in love,” Ray smiled widely at Sandor, “We’re dating, son.  And I’ve invited her to come with me on my cruise that I’m taking next week.”

Sandor felt almost nauseous enough to throw up on the spot.  Running both hands through his shoulder-length and previously styled hair, his complete exasperation at the sudden news report regarding Ray’s love life began to overwhelm him.

“Fuck, Ray,” Sandor moaned, covering his eyes with his hands in some feeble attempt to make the sudden image of Ray, his mentor and highly respected father figure, getting busy with the obnoxious little woman that overtook his brainwaves disappear.  No luck.

Sandor couldn’t look at Ray.  “Just…fuck,” Sandor groaned as he rubbed his closed eyes with the heels of his palms, “Fuckitty, fucking…”

“Sandor, please hear me out before - ”

“How long?”

“About a week or so before I hired her.”

“But…where did…”

“We met at the grocery store of all places.  We just hit it off and - ”

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything before now?” Sandor huffed.

“Considering how much you adore her,” Ray smirked, “I figured I’d wait and see if you’d eventually warm up to her.  I’m still waiting for that to happen, though.”

Sandor sniffed at Ray’s assessment of Sandor’s feelings toward Shae.

“If you think about it,” Ray continued, “You two are a lot alike.  It may explain why she gets under your skin so.”

Thinking about what Ray said made Sandor groan once again.  “Now it’s all making sense…the little giggles Shae squeaks out when you talk to her…why you two carpool to work every damn day…you wouldn’t let me fire her because you’ve been shagging her…damn it, now I’ve got that image in my head again… Ray, really?”  Sandor lowered his head down onto his desk, smacking it gently on the edge a couple of times.

“I’m sorry I lied to you, Sandor,” Ray said quietly as he watched Sandor try to absorb the fact that his mentor and surrogate father was in a relationship with a woman whom Sandor despised, “I know I should’ve told you sooner but I wanted to wait until you learned to like Shae.”

“Well, you must be downright disappointed since that day hasn’t arrived,” Sandor sighed loudly.

“Still,” Ray continued, “I should have told you that Shae and I are in love.”

For the first time since Ray had admitted to his relationship with Shae, Sandor finally looked at Ray.  Sandor never lied.  He hated liars, and Ray knew that.  And from the look on Ray’s face right now, Sandor could tell that the awful woman made Ray happy.

_Damn me to the seven hells..._

“Well, to be fair, you never actually lied to me about Shae,” Sandor said as he took a deep, slow breath, trying his damnedest to show Ray the respect that he deserved, “You just never told me why in the hell that woman was so valuable to the clinic, considering the fact that she can’t type worth a damn, doesn’t know how to run the copier, and has the attention span of a gnat.”

“For the record,” Ray grinned at Sandor’s assessment of Shae’s administrative skills, “Shae does have an Associates from Crownlands College of Business.”

Sandor simply shook his head in disbelief, “Did you check her transcript?  Because I’m quite certain that if you had, you’d have seen that she flunked out of school.”

Ray threw his head back and laughed.  “She’s not the most efficient secretary, I’ll give you that.”  Rising from his seat, Ray moved around the desk to clasp Sandor’s shoulder.  “I am sorry to leave you in the lurch, though,” Ray smiled as he watched Sandor’s demeanor shifting from shock and revulsion toward acceptance.

“Ah, don’t worry about it.  I’ll call the temp agency this afternoon,” Sandor mumbled, “Surely they have at least one lady hidden somewhere in King’s Landing who hasn’t cycled through here yet.”

“I’ll handle all of the details on that front.  Consider it done,” Ray smiled at Sandor as he also stood, “Thanks for understanding, son.  I was afraid that - ”

“Nothing about today has been normal, Ray.  This is just the icing on the proverbial cake so far,” Sandor spoke as a tiny chuckle escaped his lips, “Damn me if I can’t wait to see what happens the rest of it.”  And with that last comment, Ray threw his arms around Sandor, squeezing his giant, surrogate son into a tight embrace which Sandor willingly returned.

After finishing his man-to-man conversation with Ray, Sandor’s steel gray eyes were wide open now.  All of the little glances, the incidental touches…everything about why Ray had championed Shae’s cause all along was so blindingly obvious now that he knew the truth, Sandor couldn’t help but admire Ray for keeping his relationship with that confounded woman a secret for so long.  Chuckling to himself as he put on his monogrammed lab coat, Sandor draped his stethoscope around his large neck and headed down the hallway to visit with his first client of the day.

The sheer look of amusement that Shae shot him when she walked by him in the hallway, however, made Sandor want to gag once again at thinking about her being involved in any way at all with Ray.

The remainder of Sandor’s morning went off without a hitch, seeing his clients and running through the normal routine visits as scheduled.  At lunch, he took Stranger for a walk, returning to eat his lunch in the solace of his office.  He tapped out a text to Bronn, telling his long-time friend that he didn’t feel up for hanging out tonight to shoot darts at the Oldtowne Bar & Grill, their usual Friday night place to hang out and unwind.  Bronn had quickly replied, volunteering to grab some beer and head to Sandor’s place to shoot the breeze a bit.  Thinking about how much he’d like to unload his day on a willing set of ears, Sandor agreed, telling Bronn to be over around eight.

After lunch, Sandor continued to work his way through the day.  Now finished seeing his last client, he decided to go home instead of the gym this hot, muggy evening.  As he grabbed his messenger bag, calling to Stranger that it was time to leave, Sandor decided to sneak out the rear exit, hoping that he could forgo seeing Shae’s smug-as-fuck face until she came back from her trip with Ray.  Her snarky comments had all but dried up the remainder of the day once Ray let the proverbial cat out of the bag, but Shae’s smirks and highly-satisfied looks were enough to set Sandor off more than once.  Unfortunately, Sandor was unable to escape.  Shoving his way through the employee entrance and exit, who should he see but Ray engaging in a rather passionate lip-lock with his new lady love as they stood beside Ray’s white Lexus.

“Fuck, would you two get a room already?” Sandor barked, startling Ray and Shae, causing them to jump apart like two horny teens busted by dear old Dad.  Trying to think of anything but what he had just witnessed, Sandor opened the rear door of his Suburban to let Stranger climb inside.

“Sorry, son,” Ray laughed as his bearded cheeks flushed, “She just makes me feel young again!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sandor groaned, rolling his eyes at that statement.

“Maybe if you’d get a woman of your own, you’d be less of an ass,” Shae smirked as she placed her well-manicured hands on her shapely hips.

“Maybe if you’d - ” Sandor began through gritted teeth, his black hair whipping through the air as his head snapped in Shae’s direction.

“Now, now, listen here, you two,” Ray chuckled as he interrupted whatever nasty comment Sandor had intended to lob Shae’s direction, “The two of you need to call a truce.  I love you, Sandor, like my own,” he continued, wagging his finger toward Sandor, “And Shae, you know that I adore you,” he added, reaching to wrap his arm around her delicate shoulders.  “You two _will_ learn to get along, do you hear me?”

At the same time, Sandor and Shae rolled their eyes and huffed, folding their arms defensively in front of them.

“See what I mean?” Ray laughed at the mirror image they made, “I told you that you two are more alike than you think!”

“Fine, Ray, for you, I’ll try,” Shae grinned as she looked into his eyes.  Turning to face Sandor, her smile faded into an expression slightly better than if she’d smelled a dead skunk.  Sticking out her hand as a peace offering, she titled her head to the side with her dark brown eyes narrowed slightly, “Truce?”

Eyeballing her like she was a diseased animal that he needed to put down quickly, Sandor caught Ray’s hopeful, pleading eyes staring directly at him.  Sighing in defeat, Sandor realized that he needed to let Ray do this.  Ray had been alone for years since Gwen’s death, and who was Sandor to decide what woman Ray needed in his life?  Ray deserved to be happy, even if he’d chosen the petite she-devil with the thick Lorathi accent.

“Fine,” Sandor snarled slightly as he gripped Shae’s small hand in his massive one, barely squeezing it as they shook.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me.  I’m out of here.”

As Sandor jumped into his vehicle, he could hear Shae calling out to him as he started the engine, “I’ll be sure to send you a postcard, Dr. C!”

 _Just don’t say anything…just drive,_ Sandor told himself as he clenched his teeth, backing up and barreling out of the parking lot.

While driving home, Sandor reflected on his day.  In less than 24 hours, he’d been invited over to Sansa’s apartment for dinner, and he’d discovered that Ray was in love.  Highly amused as the thought that Ray had unwittingly stumbled upon love while grocery shopping, Sandor laughed to himself.  Although it was only a dinner date with a gorgeous neighbor, maybe Sandor’s luck was about to change as well, thanks to that little rodent who’d scared the holy shite out of Sansa earlier this morning.

And it was while thinking about the tiny mouse that had launched Sandor to Sansa’s rescue that a terribly funny idea popped into Sandor’s head, one that would either scare Sansa off or endear him to her.  Was it worth the risk?

Sandor had never really been a patient man.

Rerouting his direction, Sandor drove first to the local hardware store and then to the drugstore on the corner just a few blocks from his apartment complex.  Pleased with his purchases, he rushed home, hoping that he would have enough time to execute his mission before Sansa arrived home from work.  As he glanced at his watch, Sandor smiled at the thought of surprising her with his little “gift.”

With Stranger hot on his heels, Sandor raced up the stairs of his building three at a time, dashing down the hallway and into his apartment in record time.  He tossed his messenger back on the black leather couch and then dumped the contents of his two shopping bags onto his coffee table.  Returning to his bag, Sandor yanked out his notepad and a pen before sitting at the bar to write.  Watching his master with his large head cocked to the side, Stranger flopped onto his plush gray pet bed as Sandor feverishly scratched out a message to Sansa:

_“Read the enclosed instructions with the no-kill trap.  Use peanut butter for bait.  Mice love the stuff.  Place the trap along the wall or an out of sight location.  Be sure to put the entry hole in line with the wall wherever you choose.  Mice usually don’t travel too far from their nest, so keep it near the area where you saw it this morning.  I suggest that you only utilize the trap when you’re at home.  Leaving a trapped, live mouse for too long will result in a shocked, dead mouse._

_When you do capture it, I volunteer my services to help you rehome your furry tenant should you not feel up to handling the task on your own.  Just knock.  Or you can text me at this number…”_

Sandor paused his writing when he realized that by giving her his cell phone number, he was opening a whole Pandora’s box.  Handing over his number was the equivalent of giving Sansa an engraved invitation into his personal life.  And damn him to the seven hells, right now that was exactly what he wanted.

Finished with his veterinarian-approved instructions, Sandor used the wrapping supplies that he’d purchased to ensconce the mouse trap.  Finally satisfied with the result, he opened the small notecard he’d bought along with the decorative box and ribbon to write a short inscription:

_"Thought you might be needing one of these.  Use it.  Your neighbor’s sanity is at stake here, woman."_

Chuckling to himself as he licked the envelope, Sandor stuffed the notecard under the bow.  “Showtime,” he smiled as he winked at Stranger, who answered with a small woof under his breath.  Carefully opening his front door, Sandor ducked his head outside, looking down the hallway to see if anyone was within sight.  The coast appeared to be clear.  He then darted across the hall, placing the tiny rainbow striped box with the hot pink bow on her doorstep before hurrying back into his apartment.

“Well, Stranger,” Sandor laughed as he leaned against his front door, “I’ve gone and done it now.  No turning back, eh?”

Within seconds, he heard the sounds of keys jingling out in the hallway.  Looking through the spyhole in his front door, Sandor saw Sansa, who was clutching the present in her hand against her chest, unlock her front door to go inside her apartment.

 _You ready for this, Clegane?_ he smiled to himself as she shut her front door with a huge, toothy grin stretched across her pretty face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot damn! Date night is on the menu for the next chapter - stay tuned!
> 
> And I'm curious...does anyone out there know the Elvis song that Sandor sings a few lines from while taunting Shae?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Saturday begins, Sansa and Sandor prepare themselves for their dinner date at Sansa's place. The night definitely does not go as either one planned, but by the end of the date, neither one would change a damn thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is folks! Sorry it's taken me so long to revisit this story. As my humble apology for not posting any updates sooner, I am rewarding your patience with a double-length chapter. So, sit back, grab some popcorn, and hang on for one hell of a slapstick, rom-com adventure with our hapless protagonists as they attempt to navigate their first date!

Without a doubt, Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane were having the damn finest Saturday that they could remember having in a very, _very_ long time.

First, Sansa had risen extraordinarily late this sweltering Saturday morning, well, early afternoon, actually, in part because she couldn’t fall sleep the previous night.  She had lain awake for hours, either tossing and turning or staring at the ceiling, listening intently for any signs that the terrifying little rodent stowaway who caused her to panic yesterday morning would once again make an appearance.  The trap that Sandor had left for her, thankfully, was easy to engage, and heeding his expert advice, she had placed the fully locked and loaded renegade mouse containment system in the kitchen pantry, right beside Lady’s kibble.  Shivers went up and down her spine countless times as she thought about coming eyeball to eyeball with her prisoner should said trap actually deploy.

Not only was she fearful of the mouse, she also found it extremely hard to close her eyes for very long due to the frantic pace at which her brain was racing while swimming in its excitement at the thought of having dinner with Sandor tomorrow night.  She hadn’t been on a date of any kind in such a long time, she feared that her lack of practice would cause her to stuff her foot down her throat even further than normal.  Although Sansa meant well, she had a habit of blurting out what she was thinking without thinking, a trait that was endearing to her family, hilarious to her friends, but frightening to a potential suitor.

Mercifully, around two in the morning, she finally crashed, a slight smile splayed across her pale features as she enjoyed a highly acrobatic and uncommonly pleasurable post-date rendezvous with the dog doc across the hall, all within the confines of her sleepy-time imagination.

As Sansa sipped her morning coffee, yawning widely while listening to the sloppy sounds of Lady chewing away on her Booda Bone, like a CIA operative, Sansa strategized and plotted every possible angle of how dinner would go down tonight, leaving no stone unturned.  Scrutinizing various blogs and websites on her laptop for pulling together the perfect Italian repast, she designed a fail-safe plan of action to ensure Sandor’s dining pleasure and, if she played her cards right, obtain an invitation from her very tall neighbor to go out on a second date.  A second date that would be absolutely wonderful if it included cocktail dresses and Dothraki art…but she was getting ahead of herself on that front, as usual.

After shirking her worn-out old track shorts and thread-bare t-shirt from high school, Sansa threw on some black yoga pants and a light gray t-shirt.  She called to Lady, hot-pink leash in hand, and took her excited pup for a brisk thirty-minute walk around the neighborhood.  Upon returning to her apartment, Sansa grabbed her car keys and headed to the grocery store where she spent the next two hours searching for the freshest, most colorful vegetables, the high-end gourmet cheeses her mother always used when making her signature dish, and the rest of her list of ingredients to prepare dinner.

Once she returned home, Sansa got down and dirty.  She chopped, diced, boiled, stirred, and baked a three-course feast fit for a king.

 _A feast fit for “The King”,_ Sansa grinned as she licked the edge of her wooden spoon, snagging a taste of the bubbling brew of tomatoes and spices simmering on her stove.

After carefully placing dessert in the fridge to chill, she hopped into the shower, scrubbing every inch of her lightly freckled skin, painstakingly removing any tuft of hair that she could find on her legs and pits, just in case.  Sure, she might be jumping the gun a wee bit (OK, she was jumping a whole damn arsenal, so sue her), but if there came an opportunity for a man to get close enough to those body parts in the heat of the moment, a woman needed to be prepared.  Washing and conditioning her hair with the same amount of forethought, she decided to let her hair remain curly, and if she had enough time after getting dressed and setting the mood, she would decide then if she wanted to fool with the straightening iron.

Standing in her red push-up bra and matching panties, Sansa stood in front of her closet, hands on her hips, frustrated that the perfect first date ensemble that would rock Sandor’s world without making her looking like an escort for hire eluded her.  Sansa was stuck.  Nothing tonight in her wardrobe screamed “single, savvy, and hot.”  She didn’t want to look like she was going to work, she assuredly didn’t want to look like she was headed to church, and she most definitely didn’t want to look too eager…no, Sansa needed reinforcements for this battle.

_Sansa:  Hey, are you still working?_

_Margaery:  No, just left.  What’s up?_

_Sansa:  I need help – I don’t know what to wear tonight!_

_Magaery:  Good Lord, woman, you’re just thinking about this now??_

_Sansa:  I was so worried about the food?!?!_

_Margaery:  Jesus, what am I going to do with you…almost home - will grab supplies and be there in 30 or less!_

While waiting for Margaery to arrive, Sansa threw on her fluffy lavender bathrobe, scurrying about the apartment to gather all of her stray crap off the furniture and counters in both her living room and eat-in kitchen, randomly shoving three armloads into the bottom of her closet.  Sansa was not the neatest of housekeepers, so running the vacuum and wiping down the kitchen table was a must as well.

With less than two hours to spare, Margaery rode into town on her shiny white horse, saddle bags full of various products and wares, ready to suit Sansa up for tonight’s main event.  Assessing Sansa’s wardrobe as she pulled out just about every clean scrap of fabric that her redheaded friend owned, Margaery refused each and every item of clothing, instead opting to shove Sansa into one of her very own skin-tight, sparkly little dresses that she had brought with her.  The infernally tight red number hugged Sansa so snugly, she was certain that she wouldn’t be able to eat.  Moving on from wardrobe to hair, Margaery vigorously attacked her friend’s frizzy, curly locks with sundry styling products, whipping Sansa’s hair into a chic, it’s-supposed-to-look-a-little-messy up-do.  Even though Sansa protested the tweezers profusely, Margaery worked her magic in record speed, buffing her friend’s skin into a high-gloss, artfully painting the pale canvas set before her with such masterful skill, that when Sansa turned around to look at herself in her floor-length mirror, her mouth literally dropped open.

_Damn….just…damn!_

Once Margaery quitted the apartment, warning Sansa that she expected details in the morning (or afternoon, that is, if the giant neighbor got invited to a sleep-over).  With less than 15 minutes to spare, Sansa assessed the playlist of music on her iPod.  Nothing seemed right.  Then, in a stroke of genius, Sansa quickly called up Pandora, cycling through the music options until she found what she believed would be _the_ perfect channel.

 

_______________________________

 

Like Sansa, Sandor also rose with the noon-day sun, thanks to staying up _way_ too late hanging out with Bronn and thanks to getting _way_ too into his cups.  Pulling bottle after bottle of various liquors and brews out of the numerous brown paper sacks that he had carted into Sandor’s apartment, Bronn chuckled darkly, declaring that he and Sandor needed to kick off their weekend with a bang.  Knowing full well that he was going to be sorry for it in the morning, Sandor couldn’t resist the rare treat, kicking back and downing enough alcohol to put down a small horse.  He didn’t normally drink that much anymore, having gotten wasted with Bronn plenty back in the day, but tonight, he really needed to unwind.  And damn if it didn’t feel good to feel a little buzz while whooping Bronn’s sorry ass in both _Dragon Age_ and _Kingslayer_ on the Xbox.

As the night progressed, Sandor downloaded his entire week, grumbling profusely as he bitched and moaned about work, mostly complaining about his discovery that Ray and Shae were knocking boots in their spare time.  When Sandor casually mentioned in passing that his gorgeous young neighbor this very morning had requested his presence for dinner at her place tomorrow night, Bronn literally choked on his beer, staring at Sandor with a wide-eyed, shite-eating grin right before shouting a few curses mixed with several praises to all of the gods thrown in for good measure that Sandor had actually agreed.

Long ago, Bronn had appointed himself Sandor’s tutor in the fine art of seduction, way back in the dark ages when Sandor actually gave a rip about finding a woman.  Upon hearing that his ginormous buddy finally, _finally_ had a date, Bronn would not let the matter rest until he had counseled, tutored and threatened Sandor within an inch of his life that Sandor would not only be on his best behavior with the pretty little bird across the hall, but he must go all old-school on getting ready for this date.  Flowers.  Bottle of wine.  Dress shirt and slacks.  Actually looking in the mirror to do a little manscaping here and there.  That last nugget of advice had Bronn wincing in pain when Sandor’s fist met his shoulder, but damn him if it wasn’t worth it.

Too bloody wankered to drive home, Bronn wound up crashing on Sandor’s couch around midnight.  Barely able to make it to his bed without tripping over Stranger, who had snuggled up in his doggie bed hours ago, Sandor passed out, fully clothed, snoring soundly before his head hit the pillow.

When he awoke to the late morning sun blazing through the blinds that he had forgotten to shut, Sandor groaned, rubbing his head before shuffling out of bed.  Not feeling quite right, he trudged down the hallway toward the living room, discovering that Bronn had already gone home, leaving behind a note that he had already taken Stranger for a walk and had fed the giant pooch his breakfast.  Sandor couldn’t help but chuckle when he read the last part about Bronn sending Sandor a bill for last night’s therapy session and pet sitting services.

After swallowing three ibuprofens with a liter of water and taking one seriously long, hot shower, Sandor felt human again.  Realizing that he had no clean underwear left in his dresser, he cursed profusely while standing naked in the middle of his bedroom, sighing in defeat as he opted to go commando in his black athletic pants and t-shirt, headed straight for the laundry room with his overflowing green laundry basket in tow.

For the next three hours, Sandor trucked up and down the two flights of stairs, killing time in between doing loads and folding clothes by spending time with Stranger.  His old buddy loved the attention, giving his master plenty of snorts and gruffles as Sandor took turns wrestling with him and scratching his skin in all of the best locations.  Once the laundry task was complete, Sandor assessed his wardrobe situation.  Bronn was right.  He would have to look his best tonight without looking like he was trying too damn hard.

So, without further ado, Sandor stripped bare, standing before his wide-open closet, wondering what in the fuck he should wear on a first date.  “How about this?” he asked Stranger as he held up a blue plaid dress shirt.  Stranger cocked his head to the side but remained silent.  “Alright, then,” Sandor huffed, shoving the shirt back into the closet, pulling out a short sleeve gray polo, “What do you think of this one?”  That number caused Stranger to growl.  “Aw, c’mon already,” Sandor snorted as he rolled his eyes at his furry companion, “Pick one!”  Finally grabbing a long sleeve black dress shirt, Sandor yanked it out of his closet, “This one?”  Giving a slight woof under his breath, Stranger opened his mouth to pant.  “Well, then, that’s settled,” Sandor sighed, tossing the shirt onto the foot of his bed and grabbing a pair of clean underwear out of his laundry basket.

Once ensconced in his battle armor, Sandor grabbed his truck keys and headed out the door.  Looking at his watch, he calculated he had exactly one hour to grab the necessary items on his proper first date check list Bronn had hammered into his brain the night before.  Stopping at the closest liquor store to grab a bottle of something for tonight’s meal, he panicked.  Instead of one bottle, he bought two, hoping that she would like at least one of his choices. 

From the liquor store he flew over to the supermarket, selecting a fresh bouquet of flowers.  He had to bite the inside of his cheek when the older woman at the checkout counter smirked at him as he fumbled with his wallet to pay for the flowers.

“Big date tonight, eh?” the old lady grinned at him as he handed her the cash.

“Something like that,” he huffed, snatching the bouquet from her hands and not bothering to wait for his change.  Once in the solitude of his truck, Sandor took a few deep breaths.  By the time that he had driven back to the apartment building, it was already time to knock on Sansa’s front door.  Sitting in his Suburban, gripping the steering wheel so hard he feared he would snap it in two, Sandor wondered if he could pull it off.  Wondered if once inside her home, would he be able to keep his mouth shut and not scare the beautiful little bird away with his normal, painfully direct self.  Maybe he should try to pretend to be all charming and shite like that.  Schmooze her like Bronn would, even.

As Sandor leapt out of the truck to head upstairs, he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection off his truck window.  The scars.  She had seen his face up close and in person, he had tried to drive her away, yet still she sought his company.  Maybe he should just be himself and let the chips fall where they may.

 

_______________________________

 

 _Fuck, don’t act like a bloody idiot,_ Sandor thought as he knocked twice on Sansa’s front door while juggling two bottles of wine and an enormous floral arrangement in his arms.

 _Here goes nothing!_ Sansa though as she rushed from her kitchen to her front door.

“Hi, Sandor,” Sansa smiled as she opened her front door, her shapely calf blocking the white ball of fur that so desperately wanted to see who was at the door.  Sansa immediately noticed the massive bouquet of fresh flowers that he held in his large hand.  Her eyes also quickly darted up and down, drinking in the sight of his tall, muscular form stuffed into his all-black ensemble.  He was _definitely_ rocking the monochromatic look.

“Hey,” Sandor coughed, clearing his throat and shoving the flowers forward, “These are for you.”  He tried not to be obvious in his assessment of Sansa’s wardrobe selection and messy up-do, but he was quite certain that he was failing miserably.  Damn him to the seven hells if she didn’t look radiant in that infernally tight little sparkly red number.

“Why, thank you!” she beamed, taking the giant arrangement of daisies, carnations, and tulips into her well-manicured hands, smelling them deeply as she raised her eyes to meet his.  “They’re beautiful!”

“Not nearly as beautiful as you,” he rasped, his eyes widening in horror once he realized that he actually had verbalized his thought out loud.

“You’re too much!” Sansa replied, biting her red-stained bottom lip as she stooped to scoop Lady in her free arm, stepping aside to allow him entrance into her apartment.  “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Sandor muttered, walking inside her apartment.  Taking a quick look around her place, he noticed just how incredibly girly her place looked.  All of the fluff and frills…the color scheme…it was the exact opposite of his own place, even down to the layout.  “Nice place,” he muttered as Sansa walked behind him toward her small eat-in kitchen with her armload of flowers.

“Thank you,” Sansa beamed as she sat Lady down on the kitchen floor.  As soon as her paws were allowed to touch the floor, the frisky pooch commenced “Operation Welcome Wagon” by darting into the living room, jumping, bouncing, and dancing around on her hind legs like a trained circus animal, scratching at the backs of Sandor’s shins for good measure.

“Lady!  Down!  Stop that!” Sansa sassed from the open space above her kitchen and bar, waving her scissors around furiously.

“She’s alright,” Sandor laughed, sitting the two bottles of wine down on the bar, squatting down to the floor to greet Sansa’s excited friend.  Grasping Lady behind the ears, he scratched vigorously, an action which caused Lady to flop onto her side and offer Sandor her fuzzy belly for a second course.  “So, how’s the little lady tonight, eh?” he chuckled as he worked Lady over into a furry puddle of goo.

“Getting into mischief as always!” Sansa laughed while trimming the ends of the flowers over her sink, “I don’t want Lady bothering you while you try to eat, so I’ll put her up in her kennel when dinner starts.  She is a huge schmooze.  She begs constantly!”

“Ah, I wouldn’t mind,” Sandor smiled in return as he rose to his full height, “I’m used to animals, remember.”

“Are you sure?” Sansa asked, titling her head to the side as she studied him with scissors poised in mid-air.

“Positive,” he grinned slightly.  They stood there staring at each other, frozen in place, for what seemed like hours until Sansa’s oven timer started sounding the alarm.

“Oh, that’s dinner!” she chuckled nervously, tossing the scissors onto the counter, “Make yourself at home.  I’ll be right out!”

As Sansa flitted about her kitchen, Sandor walked aimlessly around her living room with Lady sniffing at his heels, examining the sundry photos neatly and meticulously arranged on the end tables.  In one photo, Sansa had her arms thrown around the necks of two extraordinarily handsome young men about her age.  From their dress, it appeared that they were at some outdoor music event.  Next to that photo on the table was one of Sansa with a young, much shorter dark haired girl.  Both in swimsuits, they were standing next to each other on a beach, their hair in ponytails and their eyes hidden by reflective sunglasses.  On the end table by the sliding glass door, Sandor saw a photo of an older couple, a blonde, ruggedly handsome man with his arm thrown around the shoulder of an older but beautiful woman with flaming red, curly hair like Sansa’s mane.  Lastly, he laughed when he saw a photo of two much younger boys dressed like characters from a super hero movie, both poised and ready to spring into some imaginary action.  Sansa and the other three young people from the previous photos were also dressed in costume, hamming it up equally as bad as the younger two boys.

“Are these photos of your family?” Sandor chuckled, sitting the last photo down in its place on the end table.

“Oh, yeah, those are my brothers and sister,” Sansa giggled as she noticed from the opening between her kitchen and her living room over the bar which photo he had referenced, “That was a couple years ago at Halloween.  My family is crazy about dressing up as a group for it.  My parents have a huge party every year.  It’s insane, really.  That year, we all went as The Avengers.”

“And whom might you have been?” Sandor snarked slightly, assessing the all-black skin-tight ensemble and toy guns she was sporting in the photo, “Black Widow, I assume?”

Sansa’s smile lit up mischievously as she arranged the flowers in a vase she had unearthed from her kitchen cabinets, “A man who knows his Marvel…nice.”

As Sansa placed the floral bouquet on the center of her bar, she couldn’t resist the urge to needle Sandor just a little.  “Thanks for the mouse trap, by the way.  That was very thoughtful of you.  I have your cell number on speed dial now, just in case, so consider yourself warned.”

“Is that so?” Sandor laughed, as he unconsciously ran his hand through his hair, “It was very self-serving of me, anyway.  I’ll not get a moments peace again till its trapped and relocated.”

Sansa could feel the flush spreading first in her cheeks then down her throat as Sandor just stood there silently staring at her, watching her every move.  What was it about this huge, normally gruff man that had her in knots tonight?

Turning her attention to the wine selection that Sandor had brought this evening, Sansa tried to redirect her errant thoughts, “So…” Sansa muttered as she reached for the two bottles of wine, “Chianti or shiraz…you choose.”

“Chianti,” he replied while walking toward her, “I’ll do the honors, if you’d like.”

“Yes, by all means,” she grinned, handing him the bottle opener.  While unwrapping the bottle, Sandor surveyed her display.  She had gone all out for this dinner.  The small, four-seater table in her kitchen was set like she was expecting royalty.  The counter displayed an array of delicious smelling foods, and he finally realized that she had music softly playing in the background.

“I had no idea you were a fan of Holley,” Sandor chuckled as he pulled the cork from the bottle.

“Well, something told me that you might like the classics,” Sansa grinned, looking up demurely through her lashes as he handed her the open bottle.

“That I do,” Sandor nodded, smiling at her as she waved him toward his seat while pouring the rich, crimson liquid into their wine glasses, “Really, Sansa…you’ve outdone yourself.  You shouldn’t have gone to all of this trouble just to feed me.”

“Nonsense,” Sansa huffed, feigning indignation at his words, “It’s the least I can do for acting like a total dork.  Now please, sit.”

“Uh-uh,” Sandor shook his head, walking into her kitchen, stalking toward her slowly.  Standing just inches in front of her, he knew that he had gotten into her personal space, yet he couldn’t help himself.  For just one moment, he wanted to pretend that somehow this was real.  That maybe, just maybe, she could possibly be interested in him beyond forming some sort of ridiculous truce with her enormous, eccentric neighbor across the hall.  “Ladies first.”

Staring directly up into his steel-gray eyes, Sansa found herself breathing a little harder when he reached behind her and pulled out her chair for her to be seated.  “Thank you,” she murmured, wishing she could kick herself for how breathless she sounded right about now.  As she seated herself in her chair, she caught herself closing her eyes momentarily, allowing herself to quickly sniff his cologne as he scooted her chair forward.

“This looks amazing,” Sandor smirked as seated himself in the chair opposite her, draping his napkin in his enormous lap, “Thank you for doing all of this, Sansa.”

“You’re welcome,” Sansa smiled nervously as she lifted her glass to toast, “To neighbors.”

“To neighbors,” Sandor replied, willing himself to not gulp down the entire glass in one swoop to steel his nerves.

Unfortunately for Sansa, she didn’t notice that when she tried sitting her wine glass down on the table, she accidentally clipped the edge of the bread basket.  To her horror, the entire contents of said glass sloshed as it pitched forward, and when the glass made contact with the kitchen table, the crimson liquid launched straight across the table, landing in Sandor’s lap.

“Damn it!” Sandor barked, lifting his hands in the air, scooting his chair back quickly as the remaining droplets that did not soak his dress pants began to drip from the edge of the table onto the floor by his feet.

“Oh, God!  I’m so sorry!” Sansa squealed in horror, rushing around the table, hurriedly grabbing one of her lemon-yellow dish towels off the counter, “I’m so, so sorry!”

Before Sandor could tell her that it was alright, that he wasn’t angry with her, Sansa lunged for his lap with the bright yellow towel in hand, dropping to her knees directly in front of him, and to his utter shock, she began to scrub and dab his nether region with enough gusto that had her attention been under different circumstances, he damn well would have been aroused.

“Sansa, stop!  That’s enough!” Sandor exclaimed, grabbing her hands by the wrists to stop her assault on said lap, ‘Really, it’s OK!”

“I’m so sorry, Sandor!” Sansa pled as she looked up into his steel-gray eyes, her damp dish towel dangling in the air, “I will pay for the dry cleaning, I swear!”  She felt downright horrible.  Completely embarrassed.  After trying so hard to be elegant and classy, here she knelt on her linoleum floor in a puddle of chianti, wiping up the wine from her neighbor’s…oh, dear Lord, she was just touching his…his…

“No worries, lass,” he began while shaking his head in disbelief, releasing her wrists as he rose to his feet, “It was an accident.  Now, get up.  Please.”  Soaked through to the skin, Sandor sighed as he assessed the damage.  Quickly bounding to her feet as well, Sansa bit her bottom lip as her eyes scissored over his features, trying not to cry at witnessing the aftermath of her little klutz-fest.

“Really, Sandor, I’m sorry.  I mean it.  I’m just so - ”

“Stop saying you’re sorry.  I know you’re sorry.”

“Sorry.  I’m mean, I’m sorry for saying I’m sorry.”

“ _Sansa…”_

“Sorry?”

“Right,” Sandor sighed deeply again, placing his hands on his hips, “Listen, I think I should go - ”

“Sure, of course,” Sansa sniffed, refusing to cry at her own stupidity, staring blankly at the floor while wringing the wet towel in her hands, “I understand.”

Almost at the end of his patience with the whole ordeal, Sandor swallowed hard, ratcheting his frustration down several notches before he spoke.  Looking long and hard at the tall redhead standing before him, he could tell that her whole countenance reeked of both embarrassment and dejection.  Well, fuck.  She had wanted to put on a show for him tonight, that much was obvious, and much to her chagrin, she did exactly that.

“Sansa, would you look at me?” he insisted softly, a slight smirk splaying across his face.  When her pale eyes met his, Sandor felt his heart start to beat a little faster, and not just from the excitement of having a full glass of wine dumped in his lap and subsequently having said lap massaged vigorously by a beautiful young redhead.  At that moment, staring into her pretty pale face, he knew that he was in danger of falling for this woman, even if she was most likely going to be the death of him one day.  “I was going to tell you that I need to go home to change.  I’m quite wet, and a man in wet knickers is not a pleasant dinner mate.  So, give me a minute, yeah?  I’ll be back in a jiff.”

“OK,” Sansa smiled, realizing that Sandor had meant to run home to change, not to run for dear life, “Sure.  I’ll do the same, seeing how I’ve gotten my dress soggy, too.”

“Just leave the door unlocked.  I’ll let myself back in once I finish,” he added, walking carefully out of her kitchen toward the front door, hoping that he wasn’t leaving a red streak behind him like some drunken slug.

“Yeah, sure!” Sansa agreed profusely, shutting the door behind him and dashing to her bedroom to change as well.

In the interim between letting Sandor out and heading to her bedroom, Sansa did not realize that instead of closing her front door, she had merely pushed it almost shut.  Sandor, in turn, had left his own front door wide open, knowing that Stranger wouldn’t be interested in taking a stroll on his own.  Stranger was well past his excitable puppy days.

 

_______________________________

 

Unfortunately, Lady was not.

Nudging the front door open with her muzzle, Lady sniffed and snuffled her way into the hallway, following Sandor’s trail until she found herself eyeball to eyeball with Stranger, who had perched himself in his master’s doorway on sentry duty as he was apt to do.  Realizing her faux pas, Lady put on her best front, growling and posturing for Stranger to show how fierce she truly was.  Unimpressed, Stranger cocked his head to the side, studying the younger dog as she began to circle him.  However, Stranger reached his limit of tolerance when Lady dared to duck her head under his tail in a pitiful attempt to sniff his manhood.

Rising to his full height, Stranger gave one terse, guttural woof at Lady, who in sheer terror bolted back into her apartment.  Curious as to what smelled so delicious in the little dog’s apartment, Stranger shuffled across the hall, shoving the female human’s front door wide open with his massive mastiff head, following the smell straight to the kitchen.  Finding Lady sitting at the floor of one of her master’s kitchen cabinets, panting heavily, wagging her tail profusely while staring at him, Stranger’s nose led him to the metal pan directly above Lady’s head.  When Stranger, who was tall enough to reach the counter without standing on all fours, leaned forward, he licked his lips in anticipation of sampling one damn fine human meal.

 

_______________________________

 

Encased in her favorite denim skirt and a light blue short-sleeve blouse, Sansa took one final look at herself in the mirror.  Feeling much calmer now that she had changed, knowing that any minute Sandor would be back inside her apartment to share dinner, she grinned.  He still wanted to eat with her.  Well, he still wanted to eat, but she wanted to believe that he still wanted to eat with her.

Sashaying down the hallway, humming to herself while planning how the rest of the night would unfold, Sansa shrieked.  Almost as loud as she had shrieked yesterday morning when her rodent squatter decided to move in and show itself.  This scream, however, escaped her lips when her eyes locked on the sight of Stranger and Lady’s muzzles jointly shoved in the lasagna pan, scooting it along her once-clean kitchen floor as they licked and lapped up the remains of Sandor’s dinner.

“LADY!” Sansa shouted, running into the kitchen as Lady scurried about, trying to escape.  In his usual causal demeanor, Stranger merely lifted his large head, cocking his head to the side while watching the female human chase her little white dog in circles.  “And YOU!” she finally yelled at him, pointing her finger in his wrinkled, slightly aloof face, “You should be ashamed of yourself!  Both of you should!”

“Sansa?  Everything alright?” Sandor called out as he entered her apartment, wondering why in the hell she was screaming once again.  Before he could wonder any further, he witnessed a very scared and very stained white blur dash out of the kitchen and down the hallway toward what Sandor guessed was Sansa’s bedroom.  Out from the kitchen came Sansa, leading Stranger by his black nylon collar, presenting him to his equally enormous daddy whose gray eyes widened in shock.

“They ate the lasagna,” Sansa muttered as she cleared her throat, her voice stoic yet on the verge of cracking as she released Stranger from her grip, “All of it.  The whole thing.  Gone…it’s all gone…”

Stranger heeled by Sandor’s feet, looking up at him while licking the pasta sauce from his graying muzzle.  Sandor, now glaring at Stranger in utter confusion, in turn, looked at Sansa, who appeared on the verge of one nuclear-level meltdown.

“Please forgive Stranger,” Sandor apologized as he shot his humbled pet another hateful look, “He’s usually very well behaved.”  Stranger opted to ignore Sandor, refusing to look at him.  Sandor had to literally bite on his tongue to keep his obscenities in check.

“I’m the one who didn’t shut the door,” Sansa replied, “Lady probably got out and he must have followed her in here.”

“Still, I _know_ that he knows better,” Sandor snarled, narrowing his eyes as he once again turned his attention to Stranger who seemed completely unfazed by the whole ordeal. “That was awfully naughty of you, _mate_.”

“I’m sorry, Sandor,” Sansa smiled feebly, wishing right now that some sort of natural disaster would strike so she could forget this entire night happened, “This whole evening is ruined.  It’s all my fault.”  Sighing defeatedly, she looked Sandor straight in the eyes as she added, “Welcome to the story of my life.”

Sandor stared down at Sansa, wanting to take her into his long arms and cuddle her.  Cuddle her?  Now when in the fuck did he ever want to cuddle someone?

“It’s not ruined, actually,” he began, reaching up to scratch his chin, shooting Stranger a grin, “Why don’t you pack up that dessert of yours, and let me take you out for dinner.  My treat.”

“Really?” Sansa gasped in total surprise, her blue eyes widening comically, “You _still_ want to hang out with me after all of this?”

“Yes, little bird, I believe I do,” Sandor grinned in return, “While you’re at it, grab Lady and your leash.  Meet me down at my truck in 10.  You can’t miss it.  It’s the - ”

“Black Chevy Suburban…not that I’ve noticed…” Sansa offered before she realized that maybe she shouldn’t have let on so easily that she knew which car was his.

“Yeah…right.  Well, see you downstairs,” Sandor nodded, caught off guard slightly yet trying hard to not let her see his smug expression as he turned toward his apartment, cursing profusely at Stranger for misbehaving while Stranger woofed several times in response.

Sansa was completely baffled.  Not only was Sandor not mad, he still wanted to see this date through.  Tracking down Lady, who was hiding under Sansa’s bed, Sansa scooped up the furry bandit in her arms.  Still not finished sassing Lady, Sansa continued to chastise the young dog a little more while grabbing her sandals, her purse, and Lady’s hot pink leash.

Sandor, meanwhile, dashed into his apartment and grabbed his wallet and his keys, yelling to Stranger to grab his own leash before calling in an order on his cell phone.  When he hung up, Sandor realized that he was trying to make her happy.  Damn him to the seven hells, Sandor wanted to make Sansa happy.  Grinning like an idiot, he raced out the front door with Stranger following behind closely.  At his truck, Sandor’s breath lost him for a moment as he caught sight of Sansa leaning against the passenger door of his vehicle, almost as if she _belonged_ there.  Clearing his throat, he moved around to the rear of his truck.

“In you go,” Sandor ordered, watching Stranger leap up into the truck, nestling into his favorite spot, “Do you want to let Lady ride here with her partner in crime, or would you prefer to let her ride up front with you?”

“Oh, I think these two are quite chummy now, don’t you?” Sansa giggled, placing Lady into the rear compartment with Stranger.  Making herself right at home, Lady plopped down next to Stranger, who proceeded to give the much younger dog a good sniff between the ears before proceeding to lick her pasta-soaked muzzle clean.

“Knock it off, would you?  Be a gentleman,” Sandor tutted at Stranger as he began to close the rear hatch.  Properly chastised, Stranger ceased and desisted immediately, although Lady rolled over onto her side, paws in the air, trying to get Stranger’s attention once again.  Motioning for Sansa to lead the way, he opened the door for her, assisting her as she tried to navigate the climb into his truck while holding onto her glass trifle dish.

“So, where are we headed?” Sansa smiled as Sandor hopped into his truck, reaching across his fresh pair of dark wash jeans as he buckled his seatbelt.

“It’s a surprise,” he grinned while backing up the truck, “My turn to try to wine and dine you, milady.”

That little joke actually caused Sansa to snort.  A real, honest-to-goodness swine-like sound.  Covering her mouth in embarrassment, she sheepishly looked up through her lashes at Sandor. 

He simply shot her wink.  He didn’t care right now if she chirped like a bird or meowed like a cat…Sandor wanted to spend as much time in her presence as she would allow.

 

_______________________________

 

“I don’t usually have company in here,” Sandor coughed nervously as they stopped at a red light a few blocks from their apartment building, “Help yourself,” he added as he motioned for her to turn on the radio and select a station.

“Oh, goodness…I don’t know,” Sansa said as she bit her bottom lip with her teeth, gingerly reaching for the knob, pausing right before pushing it, “Touching a man’s radio is sacrilege, isn’t it?”

“Ha!” Sandor barked, laughing in response to her joke, “Who ever told you that?”

“My brothers, that’s who,” she grinned in response as she turned the radio on, “Robb used to go ballistic when I’d try to put my music on when he’d pick me up after karate class.  Jon was just as bad, too.”

“Karate, eh?” Sandor mused as they continued onward, smiling as she scanned the airwaves for something appealing, “I didn’t know I was escorting a lethal weapon with me tonight.  Do I need some sort of license to take you out?”

“Real funny,” she giggled, rolling her eyes at his joke, clutching her trifle dish a little tighter as she quickly glanced at him, “I am quite deadly, though, so don’t try anything funny.”

“I swear that I’ll be on my best behavior tonight,” he huffed in mock indignation, “Unlike the big guy back there.”

“Oh!  I love this song!” Sansa exclaimed suddenly, smiling widely at the music now engulfing the truck.  Lost momentarily to the pounding beat coming through the speakers, Sandor fought against himself to not say anything about her choice of music.  Hairbands from the 80’s were definitely _not_ his modus operandi, but for her…aw, fuck it…he could live with a spot of Bon Jovi if she was singing along with it.

“Here we are,” Sandor muttered as he pulled into the parking lot of the pizzeria.  “You sit here and guard the truck.  Use your fists of fury if need be.”

“Aye-aye, captain!” Sansa retorted, giving Sandor her best fake salute.  Watching him enter the pizza parlor, she could see him through the giant picture window.  She studied him closely, watching every nuance in the way the cashier laughed and smiled at Sandor.  Realizing he must be a regular customer, she grinned so hard her cheeks began to hurt.  Whatever Sandor was planning, albeit completely off-the-cuff and spur-of-the-moment, she knew that she would love it.

Walking back to the truck, Sandor took a few deep breaths to control his nerves.  He’d attempted light banter, just as Bronn had instructed him.  He’d also minded his manners and bit his cheek every time he felt like letting a curse loose, which had not been easy during a couple key moments tonight.  Even though things seemed to be going exceedingly well considering how the date got started, Sandor doubted his skill set.  He started to worry that Sansa might not even really think that this was, in fact, a date.  Maybe she only agreed to tag along with him because his black beast ate their dinner.  What if she didn’t really want to be here with him?

All of his doubts faded when Sandor opened his truck door and saw her bright smile waiting for him.  A man could get used to looking at a face like that.

Shoving the pizzas in the second-row seat behind him, Sandor was at a loss for words.  He had done amazingly well up until now, but for the life of him, he felt like he was running out of funny things to say.

“So, where are we going?” Sansa finally asked, filling the silence that had engulfed the truck, looking around the familiar scenery.  She was close to work now.  Ugh.  Thinking about work made her think about her date with doom tomorrow night.  Earlier in the day, Sansa had imagined how effortless it would be to ask Sandor to accompany her as her guest to tomorrow’s soirée at the art museum.  Certainly, she could pretend that she was a mature, suave working woman who exuded confidence long enough to causally invite said neighbor to the gala, and of course he would be eager to accept the offer.  Yeah, right.  If asking Sandor to go with her to the museum went as well as the rest of the date she planned, he’d end up calling the cops on her.

“Right…here,” Sandor answered while pointing toward the entrance to the dog park, pulling into one of the public parking spaces just outside the gates, “I thought we’d let our buddies in the back burn off some of the calories they consumed while we tried to enjoy our own meal.”

Sansa was speechless.  Not only had he thought of a perfect first date for two dog lovers, he had pulled it off in less than one minute as he stood in the doorway of her apartment, right after being doused in a fair amount of chianti.  She was impressed.  Really, _really_ impressed.

 

_______________________________

 

For the next hour while Lady scampered about the park and Stranger, too full to move, flopped on his side and snoozed under the late evening summer shade of an enormous oak tree, Sansa found herself laughing more than she had in a very long time.  Sandor was extremely funny, his self-deprecating humor both endearing and genuine.  Unable to hide her curiosity about him any longer, just ten minutes into their second attempt at dinner, she began to hammer him with question after question, firing them off so fast that he could barely answer one before she shot another volley.  Openly chiding herself for breeching social etiquette, Sansa apologized several times for stepping over the line of social decorum, but to her amusement, Sandor simply smiled and told her it was perfectly fine.  He actually admitted that he found himself enjoying her little litany, telling her that it had been some time since a woman had asked him anything other than how many times a day that she needed to medicate her dog.  That little joke almost made Sansa sort again.  Almost.

Sandor also did his best to be conversational, listening to her chirp about her family, her life before moving to King’s Landing, and her boring job (her words) at some accounting firm.  The pleasure of spending time with Sansa was profound.  Her sing-song voice was almost hypnotizing.  Being alone save his long hours spent at the clinic or hanging out with Ray or Bronn had always seemed perfectly fine by him.  Now that he had sampled an evening with Sansa…he couldn’t help but wonder if he would have the chance to do this again.

Glancing at his watch, Sandor realized that the park was closing for the night.  He hated that their date/oversized neighbor apology was coming to an end as well.  He hadn’t been as relaxed around a woman since Ray’s wife, Gwen, was alive.  Sansa was so incredibly beautiful and smart, yet she was completely down-to-earth.  She looked him right in the eyes when they talked, never once averting her gaze.  And she constantly touched him.  Little taps on the forearm or playful whacks to his upper arm…it was almost as if she was finding reasons to make contact.

“Well, Sansa, I suppose it’s time I get you two ladies home,” Sandor smiled with a hint of fakeness.  He moved to collect the trash off the picnic table where they had dined and talked all of this time, but before he could reach her empty bottle of water, she grabbed his forearm, holding it in place.

“Thank you, Sandor,” she muttered, slightly breathless, her voice noticeably lower than normal, “I had a fabulous time.  Really…thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his eyes lowering to her lips for a brief second before he returned her stare, “My pleasure.”

As the two sat frozen in place, neither one truly knowing what to do next, Sansa dug in deep.  The night had been amazing, like, without a doubt the best date that she had ever had.  And speaking of dates, she really, _really_ needed one for tomorrow night.  Afraid to ruin the mood by asking Sandor to pretend to be her boyfriend for one night, she opted to just omit that little detail and see if he would at least agree to going to the damn museum in the first place.  Seriously, would that little nugget of information even matter in the grand scheme of things?  Surely, Sandor wouldn’t mind it if she linked arms with him or held his hand a little during dinner.  Hell, _she_ wouldn’t mind it one bit at all.  In fact, she’d actually look forward to it, come to think of it.  No sense in freaking him out from the get go, right?

It was now or never.  Time to woman-up.

“So, Sandor, my boss has invited the entire staff at work to go to a gala event tomorrow night at the art museum,” Sansa continued without pausing for air, “And we are allowed to bring a guest, so I was wondering if you’d like to be _my_ guest, I mean, it’s only for a couple of hours, and there will be food and drinks and a four-piece ensemble, and if you don’t want to go, that’s OK, I’ll understand since it’s such short notice and all, but if you do - ”

“Sure, I’ll go.”

“Then you’ll…wait, did you just say ‘yes’ to going with me?”

“Uh, yeah.  Yeah, I did.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Wow…OK,” Sansa grinned, desperately trying to not jump on top of the picnic table and scream for joy, “Are you sure?  Because, you have to dress up for this thing, what with it being a ‘gala’ and all,” Sansa joked.

“Well, I’m sure that I can find something appropriate in the deep, dark recesses of my closet,” Sandor smirked, “What time?”

“It starts at 7:00.”

“Pick you up or meet you there?”

“Pick me up?”

“I’ll knock at 6:30, then.”

“Great!”

“Yeah, great.”

Realizing that she _still_ was holding Sandor’s forearm, Sansa retracted her hand like she had been burnt on the stove.  Giggling nervously, she helped Sandor clean up their dining area before rounding up their pooches and heading to his truck.  While driving back to their apartments, she couldn’t help but feel completely pleased with herself.  This night didn’t turn out so bad after all.

While driving Sansa and their dogs home, Sandor was on cloud nine.  Not only did he _not_ make a complete ass of himself tonight or run Sansa off with his tendency to be blunt, she had even asked him out on a second date.  Fuck.  Things were definitely looking up for him.

 

_______________________________

 

“I had a fantastic time tonight, Sandor,” Sansa blushed as she lowered her head, tilting it to the side while looking up at her extremely tall neighbor through her lashes.  They had just arrived at their apartment building, and both had stuffed their pets into their respective abodes, making sure this time that their front doors were totally and completely closed.

“Me too,” Sandor replied, clearing his throat and reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, “I’m glad that things went well after my giant buddy decided to devour your hard work in there.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think everything worked out just fine,” she grinned, fiddling with the empty trifle dish in her hands.

“I agree,” he added, finding himself at a total loss for words.

Standing in the hallway outside of Sansa’s apartment, Sandor felt his mouth go dry.  The beautiful young woman had spent the evening in his company and had asked him to accompany her to a work function tomorrow.  Now she was lingering in her doorway, almost as if she was expecting him to make a move.  Well, fuck.  Should he kiss her?  That seemed _way_ to forward for a first date.  Hug her, maybe?  Nah, he’d look like a ponce.  Damn it all to hell, what _was_ he supposed to do to end their time together?

Thankfully, Sansa answered that question for him.

“Good-night, Sandor,” she whispered, raising up on her tiptoes, playfully grabbing the collar of his black dress shirt with her free hand as she leaned in, placing a chaste kiss on his scarred cheek, “See you tomorrow.”

“Good-night,” he rasped, clearing his throat as he grinned like a complete moron, smiling at her as she opened her apartment door and cast one more glance his way as she closed it slowly.

Without a doubt, Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane were having the damn finest Saturday that they could remember having in a very, _very_ long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Sansa...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor spend their Sunday worrying about their pending date to the art museum's gala event, yet they are fretting about the forthcoming extravaganza for different reasons. Will Sansa finally have the guts to tell Sandor he's her boyfriend for the night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! Again, I must apologize for not revisiting this saga sooner. Real life is a bitch sometimes, isn't it?
> 
> Anyway, as a reward for your continued patience, I plan to post an additional two chapters very soon. I had a surge of inspiration today and literally typed over 12,000 words. That seemed a bit too much for one chapter (and my poor beta), so I'm breaking it up into three. 
> 
> So, click that subscribe button or check back often if you want to find out what shenanigans happen on Sansa and Sandor's second date!

Thanks to one little lie and to one big truth, both Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane decided to throw caution to the wind and to try something new.

First, after planting a gentle kiss on Sandor’s disfigured cheek and bidding him good-night, Sansa spent the remainder of her Saturday night in a state of blissful, euphoric glee.  After her kiss, the look of raw, unadulterated lust in her huge neighbor’s steely eyes and the adorably cute flush that consumed his bearded cheeks told her all she needed to know.  He was interested.  _Definitely_ interested.   And once she shut her front door, smiling at him the entire time as he watched her depart, that knowledge alone was enough to send Sansa straight to her bedroom while Lady barely made it to her sparkly hot-pink dog bed in the corner of the living room by the sliding glass door before she passed out in sheer exhaustion from her night of fun at the dog park.

Shucking off her clothing before grabbing her man-in-the-box out of its hiding place in her nightstand drawer, Sansa opted to alleviate some of her pent-up energy from her evening with Sandor.  Sated and boneless in record speed, Sansa jumped into a pair of worn-out track shorts and a black tank top with no bra.  Padding down the hallway out of her bedroom, she snagged a bottle of water from the fridge and proceeded to send Margaery a quick text to let her know that the date, although skirting the rim of disaster, had actually been fabulous.

Within minutes, Margaery responded to Sansa’s message, sending her a few emoticons ranging from a grouping of hearts to a smiley blowing a kiss, followed by a text that simply read, “Details.  Now.”  Laughing to herself as she texted with Margaery, Sansa grabbed the television remote in between messages, scrolling through her playlist, finally deciding to burn through her favorite superhero flick on Netflix.  As she recounted her night with Sandor to her buddy, Sansa found it extraordinarily difficult to focus on Steve or Bucky while thinking about one certain tall, muscular veterinarian.  After only 45 minutes, Sansa, who had finally given Margaery enough information to satisfy her extraordinarily curious friend, decided to call it a night, setting the mouse trap in the pantry before heading to her bed and drifting off to sleep again in record speed.

As Sunday dawned, Sansa busied herself with spending time with Lady, doing laundry, and trying to finally salvage her kitchen that was virtually decimated in last night’s dining fiasco.  When she opened the pantry door, gritting her teeth in fear that her trap activated sometime late in the night, Sansa sighed in relief that the mouse jail had not deployed.  Even though the little gray rodent still was on her wanted list, she still found it comforting to _not_ have to deal with a mouse extraction this intensely hot, muggy morning in King’s Landing.  After eating breakfast and taking Lady for a walk, Sansa came home, jumped in the shower, and began plotting her strategy for the art museum gala event tonight.

Her hands on her curvy hips, Sansa stared blankly at her closet.  Having already Googled “art museum gala fashions,” she chose to go with the standard-issue little black dress hanging in the back of her closet.  Jerking it out and laying it on her bed, she began to piece together her jewelry ensemble, squealing in delight when she unearthed an unworn pair of black sheer hosiery that had been buried long ago in the bottom of her messy, unorganized closet.  Once she had chosen her sky-high red heels that she had only worn on a handful of occasions, she transferred her necessary sundries from her huge daily-wear handbag into her a tiny black leather clutch.  Satisfied with the results, she heated her various implements of torture to begin working on her obnoxiously frizzy curls, beginning what she feared would be a decidedly painful process to ensure that Sandor wouldn’t know what hit him when she opened up her front door come 6:30 this evening.

 

_______________________________

 

As for Sandor, after Sansa had closed her front door, he had all but shimmied as he opened his own, grinning like a total dork, tossing his keys and wallet onto the bar before heading to the bedroom to jump into the shower as Stranger slowly ambled over to his dog bed by the television.  Scrubbing the sticky residue left on his lap and hairy legs from the chianti bath he had received while in Sansa’s kitchen earlier in the evening, Sandor’s thoughts kept drifting into the pleasurable abyss, reliving the glory of his time spent in the beautiful redhead’s company.  Unfortunately, every time his brain veered down said pathway, his groin decided to get involved, casually reminding him that it had been an _extremely_ long time since he’d bothered to release the pressure valve, so to speak.  Finally sliding his large hand down his abdomen, Sandor acquiesced to his lustful urges, shutting his eyes tightly as he found a delicious rhythm, all the while imagining his tall, curvy neighbor kneeling before him while investigating his lap in a completely different fashion and with something completely different in her dainty hands instead of a lemon-yellow dishtowel.

Totally spent, Sandor emerged from the shower the picture of satisfaction, yanking on a thread-bare grey t-shirt and a pair of black basketball shorts, shooting Bronn a text to let his long-time pal know that the gorgeous, shapely redhead had asked him out on another date.  Bronn replied in less than a minute, congratulating Sandor on a job well-done and admonishing him to keep up the good work.  Sending a follow-up text, Bronn reminded his ginormous friend to make sure that he checked the expiration date on his stash of foil packets, that is, assuming that Sandor actually had one at all.  That saucy comment caused Sandor to roll his gray eyes.  As usual, Bronn was ready to cross the finish line before the announcer had even fired the starting gun.  Jumping in bed, Sandor tried to read a few pages of that stupid self-help book Ray had begged him to read a month ago, but after only a few pages, he found it impossible to keep his eyes open any longer, so he simply tossed the book on the nightstand, shucked out of his clothes, clicked off the lamp, and fell soundly asleep as Stranger shuffled into the bedroom to assume his post on his orthopedic dog bed nestled at his master’s feet.

After waking bright and early, Sandor stretched and yawned, shuffling his naked form over to his almost-clean clothes still laying on the floor from the previous night.  Grabbing a quick breakfast while Stranger dined on his fresh bowl of kibble, the two long-time companions took each other for a stroll around the block before returning to their building.  Happy to be home, Stranger trotted to the back, fully intent on taking a morning nap, while Sandor headed over the gym to meet Bronn.  Not one to kiss and tell, Sandor was growing increasingly frustrated at Bronn’s typically raunchy debriefing session.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Bronn chuckled as he spotted Sandor on the bench press, “I didn’t know you had it in you.  Well, whatever you’re doing, you’re doing something right.  The lass appears to be smitten with your giant mug.  Fuck, at this rate, the two of you will be shagging by the end of the week.”

“Would you…shut… the fuck…up?” Sandor growled as he steadied his forearms against his chest, repeatedly pushing the ungodly amount of weight on the barbell into the air with relative ease, even on his last rep.

Smirking down into Sandor’s face, Bronn couldn’t resist the temptation to continue, “Like you haven’t thought about it, eh?”

“Why are we friends?” Sandor huffed as Bronn struggled to help him lift the barbell onto its supports.  Sitting up quickly, he picked up his navy hand towel off the floor by his sneaker-clad feet, wiping the sweat from his forehead, “Remind me again?”

“’Cause you love me, and you know it,” Bronn laughed boisterously, playfully whacking Sandor on the shoulder as his giant friend tossed his towel back to the gym floor and rose to his feet.  Assuming the empty spot on the bench, Bronn prepared for his turn, waiting for Sandor to remove the extra 100 pounds off the ends of the equipment.

“Yeah, right, whatever,” Sandor replied as he spotted Bronn’s lift, placing his enormous hands on his hips while keeping an eye on his buddy’s form, “Couldn’t get rid of you is more like it.”

“Maybe tonight…you’ll get lucky,” Bronn chastised in between breaths, waggling his eyebrows while lifting the much lighter barbell over and over again, “Who knows…your little bird…sounds pretty forward…”

“Keep up that yapping of yours, _mate_ ,” Sandor snarled as he leaned down to look Bronn upside down and directly in the eye, “And I’m putting the weight back on.”

“Right.  Shutting up,” Bronn grinned in return as he lifted the barbell again, knowing full well there was no way in hell that he could lift _that_ much.

 

_______________________________

 

As the moment of truth, or lack thereof, to be more specific, had finally arrived, Sansa was still fretting over the last few bobby pins, clamping the remaining few strands of her classy, sleek hairdo into place.  Studying her final application of makeup, Sansa swallowed hard.  She was having some serious self-doubts about what she had done.  Sandor had been most willing to agree to her request that he attend the art gala tonight as her guest, and instead of being forthright with him, she had chosen to consciously avoid the truth.

Now finished with her ensemble, worrying her bottom lip as she paced nervously across the length of her living room as she counted down the minutes until his arrival, Sansa continuously tried to tell herself that everything would be just fine.  She could easily pretend that Sandor was her boyfriend for Petyr’s benefit.  She enjoyed Sandor’s company.  It would be effortless to spend the evening in his sizeable presence.  And, too, to pull this feat off successfully, all that was required was some basic physical contact with Sandor on her part.  That’s it.  They could mingle among the patrons, making sure that her colleagues saw the two of them walking around the museum arm-in-arm, maybe even holding hands from time-to-time for good measure, and if perhaps she planted a chaste kiss on his cheek once or twice during the gala, neither Petyr nor her strapping neighbor would be on to her little white lie, right?

Damn.  There was absolutely _no way_ in hell that this scheme was going to work.

Petyr would without a doubt try to pump Sandor for intel the minute that they had walked into the art museum.  Her sneaky, wormy little boss would definitely be on his game tonight, trying to sniff out the cracks within her fractured fairy tale before Sandor could gulp down his first glass of Dornish red.  And even if she did manage to keep Sandor away from everyone, especially Petyr, during the museum tour, when dinner was served, it would be all over.  The table would be full to the brim of curious coworkers and one slightly suspicious employer.  God, Olyvar alone would have the truth out in the open in 30 seconds flat if he got a hold of Sandor, he was that nosy.  All it would take was one round of “So, how long have you two been together?” to light the fuse that would inevitably blow her scam clean out of the water.

 _I can’t do this,_ Sansa admonished herself, as she made yet another trip back and forth across the living room, Lady’s bright eyes watching her intently from her spot on her doggie bed, _I can’t do this to him.  He’s a good man, and I’m using him.  Even if I really do like him…want him, alright fine, I want him, damn it…he will be royally pissed once the cat is finally let out of the bag.  And then he’ll slink back into his apartment, and I’ll never, ever get him to come out again._

As Sansa tried to figure out what to do next, she decided to text Margaery for some advice.  When she had told her friend about her diabolical plans last night on the phone, Margaery almost had a come-apart.  She warned Sansa that not telling Sandor about his new-found status as “fake boyfriend” was bound to blow up in her pretty face within the first minute that they were together in the presence of her boss and coworkers.  There was absolutely no way in _hell,_ Margaery had groaned, that Sansa would come out a winner in this scenario.  Like her normal optimistic self, Sansa tittered that surely she could keep a handle on things for a couple of hours.  Really, how hard could it be?

It was impossible, that’s how hard it was going to be.

_Sansa:  I just don’t know how to tell him!_

_Margaery:  You open your mouth and say, “My boss is a creepy perv, and I told him that you were my boyfriend so he wouldn’t try anything tonight.”  Simple._

_Sansa:  But Sandor will get mad that I didn’t tell him that part up front!_

_Margaery:  The man all but broke your door down when he thought you were in danger, right?_

_Sansa:  Uh…yeah._

_Margaery:  He gave you a mouse trap “to be friendly,” as you put it, yes?_

_Sansa:  He did.  That was really cute, by the way._

_Margaery:  He agreed to come over for dinner, right?_

_Sansa:  Yes…_

_Margaery:  You dumped wine in his lap and copped a feel while trying to clean up the mess, yet he came back for more, am I right?_

_Sansa:  What are you getting at??_

_Margaery:  Your dog doc likes you, you moron.  Likes you a LOT, if you ask me.  I know that he’d pretend to be your boyfriend to help you out.  Just TELL him before you get there._

_Sansa:  What if he ends up angry and won’t go?_

_Margaery:  Then I’ll drive over there, and I’ll be your date.  Seriously – quit worrying.  It will be fine!_

Sansa sighed long and deep…right.  It will be just fine.  Yeah, sure.

_______________________________

 

After a couple hours working out with Bronn, Sandor jumped into the shower at the gym before heading home to grab a snack and to begin figuring out what in the hell a man wears to an art gala.  His long-time pal had recommended that Sandor go by the mall and try to rent a tux, but Sandor absolutely refused.  There was no fucking way he was going to do that, even if by some extraordinary luck the store had one in his size.  He’d look like an enormous, scarred penguin in something like that.

Once home, Sandor texted Ray, asking Ray to call him ASAP.  Ray has spent years schmoozing folks at sundry events like this.  Everybody loves Raymond McShane.  His mentor and surrogate father was gregarious, friendly, witty, and chatty…everything that Sandor was _not._ The last time that Ray had convinced Sandor to attend an annual veterinary medicine conference two years ago of which Sandor was an award recipient, Sandor had sworn on Stranger’s life that he would _never_ again set one of his extra-large feet in an event such as that.  Yet, all it took was a couple of hours in his gorgeous neighbor’s company to get him to go back on his word.

Seriously, why in all the name of the gods had Sandor even agreed to this little soirée in the first place?  Because he could no longer deny that he was falling for Sansa, that’s why.  Damn him all to hell, he was falling in love.  _Fuck._

Sandor was elated to see Ray’s name pop up on the cell phone.  Upon answering, he offered Ray a brief synopsis of what had occurred between he and Sansa within the last 24 hours, giving Ray the highlights from the time Sansa’s shrieked for dear life on Friday morning until she closed her apartment door last night.  While recounting his interactions, Sandor had to resist the urge to gush like a silly fangirl.  Thankfully, Ray did not see fit either to pump Sandor for any further information or to comment on the amount of fervor in Sandor’s presentation.

“So, your pretty neighbor asked you out again?” Ray chuckled softly, “Sandor, that’s wonderful!  I’m so happy for you, son!”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Sandor replied tersely, glad that no one but Stranger was around to see him grinning like a total fool, “Don’t get your hopes up, old man.  She still has plenty of time to kick my sorry ass to the curb.  Now, can you just answer my question already?  What in the hell should I wear to this thing?”

“Hmm,” Ray mused.  “Well, I know for a fact that you possess one terribly expensive suit that _somebody_ saw fit to buy you awhile back for a similar event…”

“Will that be alright, then?”  Sandor mused as he nervously scratched at the back of his neck.  He wanted to look his best tonight.  Well, the best any furry, disfigured, 6’8” giant could look in this situation.  Maybe if he was lucky, though, he might actually impress the little bird.

“Mercy, son.  If Dolce & Gabbana isn’t sufficient for an art gala, then nothing is appropriate.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…”

As the two men fell into a comfortable silence while Sandor balanced his cell phone between his good ear and shoulder, rummaging through his closet for a shirt to pair with the designer-label suit he had only worn once, Sandor distinctly heard over the line the sound of a female’s voice mumbling something in the background.

“Fuck…Ray, is the spawn of Lucifer over at your condo?” Sandor groaned, realizing too late that Shae was hanging out over there.  _Of course,_ she was.

“Gimme the phone,” Sandor heard Shae demand of Ray in the background.

“Hold on a minute, son,” Ray spoke into the phone, muffling his cell phone as he and Shae exchanged words.

“No, Ray, don’t you _dare!_ ” Sandor snarled with such venom that Stranger actually came running into the bedroom where Sandor had been agonizing over what to wear for the last thirty minutes.  Stranger hadn’t moved that fast since Ray had whipped up a batch of homemade fried chicken a couple of months ago.  Chicken was the only thing, save for that human lady’s homemade lasagna, that could make the old dog move quickly anymore.

“Hey, Dr. C!” Shae’s voice chirped sweetly over the phone, “Heard you need some fashion advice.”

Rolling his eyes so hard that he wondered if he just might pull an extraocular muscle, Sandor huffed with a distinct flair of irritation, “Put Ray back on the phone.  _Now.”_

“Settle down, doc,” Shae replied.  Sandor was certain he could see her smug-as-fuck face grinning as she spoke, “I can help!”

“I’ll chew my own leg off first,” Sandor replied, hanging up on her before she could continue.  Tossing his cell phone in frustration onto his bed, his Elvis ringtone began chiming immediately.  Grabbing his phone so hard he feared that he might break the damn thing, growling fiercely as he answered, Sandor barked into the mouthpiece, “Bugger off, woman.  I’m not going to stand here, listening to you - ”

“Ray wants us to get along, you big fucker, so shut your damn trap and listen to me for once,” Shae hissed through obviously gritted teeth, “I’m _not_ doing this for you.”

Willing himself not to jump into his truck and drive the fifteen minutes to Ray’s condo to yell at her in person, Sandor ran his long fingers through his messy, post-gym shower hair.  He glanced at his alarm clock.  He had less than 30 minutes until show time.  Maybe Shae _could_ help.   _When the fuck did my options get this low?_

“Fine,” Sandor snorted, “Help me, then.”

“Now that’s more like it,” Shae mused.  He could hear her satisfaction at having won dripping through the phone line, “So, tell me about your dress shirt options.”

And as Sandor endured the petite demon’s third-degree about his wardrobe, he actually found himself listening to Shae’s advice.  By the end of their brief conversation, he felt confident that he was ready for battle.

Looking down at the selection laid across the foot of his bed, Sandor sighed heavily.  He really should thank Shae for her help.  But damn him if the two tiny words just felt so wrong to say to her.

“Good luck tonight, Dr. C.,” Shae purred into the phone, the snark level ramping up rapidly in her tone, “Try not to be yourself, and you’ll do just fine.  Hell, maybe you’ll even get lucky.  God knows that you need to get laid.”

“And to think, I was almost ready to thank you for your efforts,” Sandor snarled as he disconnected the phone line.  Shooting Stranger a smirk as the old dog reclined on his comfy bed, his large mastiff head cocked to the side, Sandor yanked his t-shirt over his head, tossing it across the bedroom, landing it in his green laundry basket, “Well, mate, it’s now or never, eh?”

 

_______________________________

 

When Sansa heard the light rapping of Sandor’s massive knuckles on her front door, she almost jumped out of her skin.  She had ceased her pacing a few minutes ago, opting instead to grab a quick glass of water to try to distract her from her worries.  Scurrying to the front door, gently shoving Lady’s curious muzzle to the side with her leg, Sansa took a deep breath to steady herself for the inevitable.

_Just tell him…just invite him inside and tell him before you leave…he will understand…just tell him…_

As the front door opened, Sansa’s breath was taken away at the enormous sight standing before her.  Sandor looked amazing.  Like… _amazing._   He sported an impeccably tailored black, three-piece suit with classic lapels, a crisp white dress shirt, and a skinny black tie.  Completing his runway-quality outfit was a pair of highly-polished high-end black dress shoes.  His wavy, shoulder-length black hair had been groomed but still hung slightly across his right eye.  Sansa could also tell that the man had even tried to reign in his neck beard.

“Wow, Sandor…you look fantastic!” she gushed, unable to contain herself as she blatantly gave him the once-over.

“You say it as if you’re surprised,” Sandor retorted, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other, obviously trying to play off her compliment.  While darting his eyes down to his feet, he allowed himself one good, hard look at Sansa’s attire as well.  Her fiery curls were smoothed stick-straight, and she had left her waist-length mane freely flowing down her back save for a few artfully selected strands that she had twirled and pulled back into a low pony tail at the base of her long neck.  The sleeveless, form-fitting knee-length black cocktail dress hugged her shapely curves in all of the right places.  The silver, jangly bracelets gracing her wrists and the large, silver hoops she wore on her ears made the lovely lass look like she was ready to saunter down a cat walk.  And those sky-high, blood-red heels...holy hell but they were doing things to him right now _…_ “You look beautiful, Sansa,” he rasped, swallowing hard to keep his errant thoughts from meandering down a very sinful pathway.

“Thanks,” she demurred, tilting her head downward and gazing upward through her freshly curled lashes, “I clean up pretty well, don’t you think?”

“You’re beautiful no matter what you wear,” Sandor muttered without thinking, internally wishing he could bend over and kick his own ass for letting that one slip.  Clearing his throat, smirking slightly when he noticed her cheeks flush at his inadvertent compliment, he waved his arm toward the hallway, stepping aside to let her out of her abode.  “Well, shall we?”

“Yes…uh, yeah, let’s go,” Sansa sputtered, worrying her crimson-stained bottom lip as she abandoned her plan to confess for the moment, telling herself that she would spill the proverbial beans on the ride to the museum.  Bending down to pat Lady, Sansa gently scooted her happy pooch back inside the apartment, turning to lock her door before spinning to face Sandor.  “Lead the way!”

Once seated inside Sandor’s truck, driving toward her inevitable doom, the two fell into an easy rapport, laughing and teasing and talking about anything that popped into Sansa’s head.  The longer she waited to tell Sandor the truth, however, the harder it was for Sansa to want to come clean.  Fiddling with his radio, desperately trying to figure out how to broach the subject of his forthcoming fictional relationship duties, she wondered just how in the world she should bring it up now that they were just minutes from arriving at the museum.

“Leave it there,” Sandor smiled, pointing at her well-manicured hand that was busy turning the knob, “That one.”

Grinning from ear-to-ear, Sansa let go of the dial, leaning back into her seat, folding her arms across her chest, “It’s Elvis, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sandor grinned, unconsciously drumming his fingers along the top of the steering wheel as they waited at a red light.

“Which song is this?” Sansa asked curiously as she strained to listen to the lyrics.

“It’s ‘Suspicious Minds.’  One of my favorites, actually,” he replied, turning slightly in his seat while shooting her a playful wink.  As she listened to The King croon about being caught in a trap with no way out and about not being able to trust his lover, Sansa’s eyes widened comically.  She suddenly felt warm.  Her chest began to rise and fall rapidly.  She needed to clear the air before they got to that damn museum, or Sandor would never, _ever_ trust her again.  It was now or never.

“Sandor, listen…there’s something I need to tell you,” she virtually whispered as she closed her bright blue eyes, praying that any or all of the gods might actually be listening to her this evening, “About tonight…”

“Yeah?” Sandor replied, half-way listening to her as he continued down the highway once the light changed, humming along to the music trickling out of the speakers.

“I…well, you see, my boss…” she floundered, not sure where to start.

“What about him?”

“He’s…he thinks…I let him think that…that…”

“He thinks what?  Sansa, what’s wrong?”

As Sansa opened her eyes, she felt her mouth go dry and her tongue fall limp.  The way Sandor’s face had contorted into genuine concern, like nothing else in the world mattered right now but what she had to tell him, caught her off-guard.

“I let him think…that I know a lot about art,” she babbled, gritting her teeth into a tight, fake smile as she descended deeper into her lie, “But I don’t.  I don’t know the first thing about art, especially ancient Dothraki art.”

Sandor’s worried expression faded quickly as he began to chuckle, “Well, don’t worry, little bird.  I don’t think your job hinges on you having a major in art history.”

Nodding her head slowly, gulping slightly at Sandor’s joke, Sansa smiled feebly, “Yeah.  You’re probably right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, please don't get all balled up with the idea that Sansa may not fess up to Sandor about his fake boyfriend status. Trust me, just like all classic rom-coms and situational comedies, our heroine will come out a winner in the end! A little misunderstanding can be a good thing...I promise. (Wink).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor runs the gauntlet as Sansa unsuccessfully tries to avoid her curious coworkers at the art museum. During a moment of solitude, Sandor gets the courage to express himself while Sansa continues to waffle. And unfortunately for Sansa, she realizes too late that she underestimated Sandor's ability to sniff out both a lie and a liar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is part two of Sansa and Sandor's date to the art museum gala. Look out Petyr, there's one smart veterinarian on the scene!

Both Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane were about to experience one hell of a night that they would _neve_ r forget.

First, while standing in the middle of the entryway into the art museum, Sandor hadn’t felt this nervous since he’d sat for his veterinarian medical licensing exam.  There had to be at least one hundred fancy folks milling about as Sansa led him into the establishment.  As Sansa smiled at the well-coiffed ladies and the well-dressed men, Sandor kept his eyes cast straight-ahead, refusing to make eye contact or to react to the obviously widened eyes and gaping mouths his presence was causing at the moment.

The fact of the matter was, Sandor hated crowds.  Not that he had panic attacks or the like, he just despised being around a bunch of strange people, having to stand there and try not to notice them notice him in all of his mangled, ginormous glory.  Working at the clinic was easy most days, unless he had a new receptionist or client to break in.  Most of the time, all it took was one sneer with his good eyebrow raised in defiance to squelch any curiosity they might otherwise express at laying eyes on him for the first time.  Because Sandor was a creature of habit, the staff at The Wall had acclimated to Sandor when he came in to work out, and even the regulars no longer gawked at him when he lifted more poundage than two fit ladies weighed combined.  Meeting new people was neither something that Sandor enjoyed nor excelled at doing very well.  Bloody hell, this was going to be one long fucking night, and he had signed up for this headache-in-the-making willingly.  He needed a drink.  Right.  Now.

“Hey, are you OK?” Sansa asked, her head tilted to the side as she stared up at Sandor.  She sensed his apprehension.  “You want a drink?”

“Hell, yeah,” Sandor sighed, his gray eyes darting among the enormous throng of patrons viewing the numerous paintings, sculptures, and artifacts.

“Let’s go,” she smiled brightly at him, sticking out her dainty, pale hand for him to take.  Swallowing hard as he placed his enormous hand in hers, he allowed her to lead him to the bar.  He almost felt like he was floating as she tugged him firmly, pushing their way through the crowd, smiling like a love-sick dope when she grinned at him over her lightly-freckled shoulder.

As Sandor asked for a glass of wine for the both of them, Sansa took a deep breath.  They had been at the museum for almost ten minutes, and not one Masters of Coins employee was in sight as of yet.  Perhaps she could keep Sandor all to herself until dinner was served in about 45 minutes.  If she could manage that feat, then she’d only have to survive the meal.  And, of course, it was just as Sansa was taking her first sip of chardonnay, beginning to relax slightly, that Ros, Daisy and Olyvar skittered up to the two of them.

“Sansa, darling!” Olyvar cooed, leaning in to air-kiss Sansa’s rapidly blushing cheeks, “You look divine!”

“Thanks,” Sansa grinned, eyeballing Sandor’s reaction to her flamboyant colleague.  Olyvar was tall, blond, handsome, and a terrible flirt, no matter what the person’s gender proclivities might be.  She had to suppress a fit of laughter at the way Olyvar visibly appreciated her huge date.

“Dear Lord,” Olyvar muttered in feigned shock as he drunk in the sight of Sandor, who immediately downed his first glass of wine in two gulps.  Leaning on Ros’s arms as his two female coworkers joined him in his merriment, Olyvar grinned lasciviously, “You’re huge.  Just…massive.  Like a brick wall.”  Feeling emboldened by Sandor’s stiff yet silent response, Olyvar sauntered forward, blatantly feeling the silky-smooth black fabric of Sandor’s lapel, “And this suit…mercy, your man has fantastic taste, Sansa!  Is that Dolce & \- ”

“Hands off, mate,” Sandor grufffed, his gigantic hand roughly removing Sansa’s highly amused coworker’s hand from his suit jacket.  “Not.  Interested.”

As Olyvar threw his head back in sheer delight, joined by both Daisy and Ros, Sansa tried to divert her painfully forward coworkers’ attention, “Say, have you guys already seen the exhibits?  I was wondering if -”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Sansa?” Ros questioned, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised as she turned her smile toward Sandor.

“Sure…right, how silly of me!” Sansa tittered nervously as she quickly clocked through the formality.  As she tried to figure out a polite way to get the hell away from her intrigued coworkers, Sansa finally caught sight of her boss.  Off in the distance, standing beside an encasement of various Dothraki artifacts, Petyr was surrounded by Armeca, Mirelle, and Kayla, two junior accountants in his firm as well as one of the other administrative assistants on staff.  Facing the display, Petyr did not see Sansa notice him nor did he see her sense of panic wash over her slightly horrified face.  “If you’ll excuse us,” Sansa added, keeping her blue eyes focused on her employer, “We were just about to start meandering around the museum.”  Before anyone could say anything at all, Sansa yanked Sandor along with her by his hand, downing the rest of her wine in one gulp and sitting the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray.

“In a hurry, little bird?” Sandor teased, highly amused at her determination to get away from her annoying as hell coworkers, “That desperate to get me all alone?”  He knew he shouldn’t tease her like that, especially when she was already good and flustered.  Yet, the way that she had blushed when Olyvar had called Sandor her man made Sandor’s stomach flip.  If only…

“You have no idea,” she replied breathlessly as she looked into his eyes.

That response caught Sandor off-guard.  _Way_ off-guard.  Now that was definitely _not_ the retort he had expected.

 

_______________________________

 

Standing in front of an enormous array of Dothraki shields and spears that were ensconced in several massive glass display cases, Sandor looked down at their joined hands.  Sansa, who had calmed down considerably in the twenty minutes that had passed since they escaped her annoying-as-fuck colleagues, had not once let go of him as they chatted, joked, and perused the exhibits.  Not that he was complaining one bit, although Sandor couldn’t help but wonder if Sansa even remembered that she was still holding his hand in the first place.  Smiling brightly as she turned to speak to him, he felt his breath hitch in his throat.  Sansa was so infernally beautiful.  He would endure a million art galas if it meant that he could stand in her presence, touching her like this, even if their contact were only ever to be chaste and innocent.

And then without warning, Sansa tugged him toward her, whispering in his good ear, “Wanna go find somewhere to hide for a bit?”

Well, that sounded like it could be a game changer, now didn’t it?

“Uh…yeah, sure,” Sandor mumbled as she yanked him along, obediently following the path she was blazing ahead.  Unbeknownst to Sandor, Sansa had caught sight of Petyr staring at the two of them from a safe distance, pretending to listen to Kayla, another receptionist at Masters of Coin, while she hung off Petyr’s arm and whispered playfully into his ear.  Petyr’s feral smirk as Sansa met his stare sent shivers down her spine.  If she hadn’t brought Sandor with her tonight, there was no way in hell that her boss wouldn’t be in her face right now, trying to get cozy.

Rounding the corner of the exhibit by a tall sculpture of an ancient Dothraki chieftain, Sansa burst through the French doors, exiting the main building as they stepped onto the patio.  Her mind was racing at least a thousand miles an hour.  Although Petyr had never actually verbalized his intentions toward her, Sansa’s eyes were opened wide tonight.  At Masters of Coin, Sansa had observed the way Ros, Armeca, Kayla, and the other employees doted on Petyr, but Sansa had always brushed it off as simply their way of being friendly.  Watching the manner in which her female colleagues all but grinded up against their boss like he was their pimp, however, led Sansa to believe that Petyr entertained high hopes that Sansa would fall in line soon.  Very soon, if he had his way.

“Are you alright, Sansa?”  Sandor inquired as she leaned against the railing that overlooked the outdoor exhibit, her cheeks reddened and flushed.  Studying her carefully, he wondered if she suddenly was feeling sick to her stomach.  “Do you want me to take you home?”

Taking a deep breath, Sansa closed her crystal eyes momentarily, willing herself to breathe.  Margaery had been right all along.  Petyr was a creepy perv, and Sandor was a good man.  It was time to be honest with her enormous neighbor, assuming she could ever drum up the damn courage to do so, “No, I’m fine.  Really, I’m fine” Sansa answered, opening her eyes and blankly staring off into the distance, “I just needed some air.  Got a little too crowded in there for me.”

Sandor leaned beside her, folding his long arms in front of him as he looked off into the distance as well.  He could sympathize with that feeling for sure.  Falling into an awkward silence as the two neighbors tried to figure out what to do next, their moment of solitude was broken when the announcer bellowed over the intercom that dinner was about to be served.

In just a few minutes, Sansa’s ploy would be revealed.  She really needed to tell Sandor that he was her unsuspecting boyfriend for the night.  As she braced herself for his wrath or his pity, not quite sure which would be worse, Sandor’s hand reached out to rest on top of hers.

“Thanks for inviting me here tonight, Sansa,” he began slowly, angling his tall form so he could look into her eyes now wide and full of wonder, “I don’t get out much.  By my own choice, mind you,” Sandor smirked playfully, causing her to smile in return, “But really…it’s been wonderful getting to know you and spending time with you this weekend.  Thanks for not giving up on me.”  His steel-grey eyes lowered to her mouth for a split second as the idea of leaning forward to kiss her flitted through his brain.  Willing himself to heel, Sandor’s eyes snapped upward, locking with hers.

Sansa was no fool.  She could feel the electricity sparking between them so fiercely, she was certain that she was going to have burns on her hand when he pulled back.  Right here, right now, all she had to do was close her eyes, lean forward, and signal to her date that she was ready for him to move forward.  Hell, she’d _been_ ready.  But if they kissed, dear Lord, _then_ what would Sandor think of her once he discovered the truth that she had avoided for so long?

 _Screw it,_ Sansa thought.  Grinning as she leaned toward Sandor, her lashes fluttering shut as she tilted her head, Sansa invited Sandor’s lips to hers.  Responding to her actions, Sandor leaned in as well, grinning with the anticipation of finally, _finally_ getting the balls to make a move.  Just as their mouths were mere inches apart, their moment was halted, interrupted by a man’s smooth voice behind them.

“My, aren’t you two a cozy couple?” Petyr smirked as he stood holding the French doors wide open, “Sansa, really, you two _must_ behave yourselves here tonight.”

Jumping to her feet like a frightened cat, Sansa coughed and sputtered, smoothing her skirt, brushing off some imagined lint.  Still completely unaware of who Petyr was, Sandor stood to his full height, his fists unconsciously clenching while staring down at the much shorter, well-dressed man, “And who the fuck might you be?”

“Sandor,” Sansa chirped, faking a smile at Petyr while clutching Sandor’s elbow tightly, “This is my boss, Petyr Baelish.  Petyr, this is…Sandor.  Sandor Clegane.”  If the sky would have opened up to allow an alien life form to beam her up into their spaceship, Sansa would have been eternally thankful.

“The pleasure is all mine, Sandor,” Petyr grinned triumphantly while holding out his hand toward the enormous man who was busy shooting him death rays, “Sansa is a very valuable asset to my firm.  It’s an honor to finally meet her boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Sandor huffed in question while taking Petyr’s hand in his, squeezing just enough to let Petyr know who was the alpha male present in the pack tonight.  Raising his good eyebrow at Petyr as he winced slightly at Sandor’s snug grip, Sandor glanced toward Sansa.  Surely, the little weasel had erroneously assumed Sandor’s status with Sansa based on their almost-kiss right before her snarky little boss had happened upon them.  Standing there in silence, Sandor waited for Sansa to correct the man.  To his utter amazement, she didn’t.  In fact, she seemed to be perfectly content with Petyr’s mistake.

“Thank you, Petyr,” Sansa squeaked, “I’ve been dying for you to meet Sandor as well.  But, you heard the announcement… we should probably get a move on.”  Pulling on Sandor’s free hand to get him to follow her, feverishly trying to redirect the subject matter, “I’m starved!”

With Petyr only a few steps behind them, Sandor was completely perplexed.  Shooting a look at her employer over his broad shoulder, Sandor witnessed Petyr linking arms with Ros and some other young, well-built female whom Sandor assumed was also one of Petyr’s employee.  His full mustache raising as he grinned widely at Sandor, Petyr leaned in close to Ros’s ear, whispering something that caused her to blush and giggle.  As Sandor turned around and looked down at Sansa, he could almost smell the fear radiating off her.  _What in the fuck is going on?_ he snorted to himself as they finally found their way to their table.

Pulling out Sansa’s chair, Sandor silently surveyed the table full of her coworkers as they chatted and giggled among themselves.  No one else had brought a date, partner, spouse, or significant other to the gala tonight.  The Masters of Coin apparently only hired buxom, beautiful, single young women, several of whom couldn’t seem to stop fawning over Petyr.  Well, the accounting firm also hired that fashionable fop, Olyvar, but hell, even Sandor, who was assuredly _not_ into guys, could appreciate that the younger man and the only male apparently in Petyr’s employment was a looker.  Suddenly, things were becoming very clear.  Sansa’s boss had surrounded himself with youthful beauties on purpose.  The only man in his employment posed no threat to the little harem that Petyr had created, and judging by Sansa’s unease while in her employer’s presence, Sandor could only surmise one thing.

Petyr must have hit on her in the past.  And damn him to the seven hells, knowing that made Sandor’s blood boil.

As he seated himself beside Sansa, gritting his teeth while laying his white linen napkin in his enormous lap, Sandor took a deep breath.  He caught Sansa looking helplessly at him, her apprehension apparent.  Watching Sansa lower her eyes to her hands folded neatly in her own lap, Sandor knew something was amiss.  Sansa seemed afraid of her boss.  She definitely seemed anxious around Petyr, that much was obvious.  And Sansa had continued to let Petyr think that Sandor was…

Woah, wait a minute.  Hold the phone.  This night was taking a rather heinous, sinister turn.  Suddenly, the whole thing made sense.

Sansa had asked Sandor to come to the gala event tonight to help deflect her employer’s unwanted overtures.

Saddened that she most likely had no real interest in him other than his ability to scare the fuck out of her boss, Sandor bit the inside of his cheek while he watched Petyr from across the table.  The thin, shorter man seemed so utterly pleased with himself as all of the ladies in his office save Sansa hung on Petyr’s every word.  It was disgusting, really.  No wonder Sansa had asked him to be her date tonight.  Her boss was a creepy pervert.

No man had the right to take advantage of a woman on his payroll.  The idea that Petyr was probably sleeping his way around the office while keeping Sansa in his cross-hairs made Sandor decide on the spot that Petyr needed to keep his fucking metrosexual hands to himself for once.  Sandor would worry about the consequences later as he licked his sorry wounds from the safety and privacy of his apartment.  If Petyr thought that Sandor was her boyfriend, whether or not Sansa willingly instigated the whole affair, then damn it, come hell or high water, tonight Sandor _was_ her boyfriend.

 

_______________________________

 

“So, tell me Sansa, how did you two little lovebirds meet?” Petyr mused, raising his wine glass to his lips, taking a long sip, all the while staring directly at Sansa.  Sandor’s narrowed eyes surveyed the entire table to gauge the reactions.  All eyes were in fact locked and loaded on their redheaded colleague, all eager to hear her tell her tale.

“We…we’re neighbors,” Sansa began tentatively, fiddling with her napkin draped across her own lap, “We met a couple of months ago when Sandor moved into my building.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet!” Daisy chimed in, her whole face alight with imagined romance.

“Did you two hit it off immediately?” Mirelle smirked, shooting Petyr a quick glance, blatantly doubting Sansa’s story.

“Well, actually…” Sansa stammered weakly, daring to glance over at Sandor before returning her focus to Mirelle.  Here it was.  The moment where Sansa had to admit to Petyr that she in fact did not possess a boyfriend had arrived.  And the moment where Sandor would throw his napkin on the table and leave her sitting at the table as he stormed off.

“Actually,” Sandor interjected with a huge, fake grin, diverting the attention to himself, feeling an entire table’s worth of people suddenly staring at him attentively, “The morning I moved into her apartment building, Sansa brought me the most amazing cinnamon bread.  It was love at first sight.  Wasn’t it, darling?”

As the “oohs” and “aws” from her female colleagues abounded, Sansa’s crimson mane spun in the air, her head whipping around wildly as Sandor moved to hold her hand that was still resting neatly in her lap.  Staring with wide eyes at Sandor, who was purposefully returning her gaze with equally wide eyes, Sansa’s ginger brows furrowed together in complete and total shock.  He had just publicly declared that they were in love.  In.  Love.  What in the…

Enjoying her stupefied expression, Sandor simply grinned.  He never lied.  In fact, he actually detested liars.  The irony of the whole situation was that even though he had never admitted it until now, nothing that he actually had just told her employer and colleagues was a lie.  He was in love, and he had been smitten with Sansa from the minute that he had seen her in those confounded tight work-out clothes as she had jogged down the sidewalk that hot, muggy Saturday two months ago.

“I just love a good romance story!” Olyvar sighed while taking a sip of his red wine.

“Two months, you say?” Petyr grinned as he leaned back in his chair, staring hard at Sandor, “How strange it is that Sansa never mentioned you at all.”

Sansa could feel her heart rate escalating so fast, she thought that she might faint.  The look of complete, whole-hearted affection that Sandor was giving her as the entire table of coworkers gawked at them all but melted her heart.  _He knows_ , she thought to herself, _and he’s still going to play along_.  She felt like a complete ass as he brought their joined hands to his lips, placing a gentle, chaste kiss on the back of hers.  Gripping her hand a little tighter as he smiled feebly at her, Sansa wanted to reach out to Sandor, pull him to her, and plant a messy, tongue-laden kiss on him.  Not for what he was doing to help her with Petyr…OK, actually, that was part of the reason, but mostly she wanted to let him know that she desired him for more than his presence here at the art museum.

“Sansa is a professional woman,” Sandor replied as he returned Sansa’s hand to her lap, still holding on tightly, not breaking his eye contact with her, “I’m sure she didn’t feel the need to bring our personal lives into the workplace.”  Sandor could feel Petyr’s hateful glare sizzling the side of his head, but Sandor didn’t care.  For at least a few moments, Sandor could pretend that Sansa actually loved him.  That would at least make it a little easier when she told him to get lost after he brought her home tonight.

“Say, Petyr, I’ve been dying to hear about your trip to the orchestra last night,” Olyvar asked during the awkward lull in the conversation that had descended upon the table as Sansa and Sandor stared longingly at each other.  While her colleague turned the conversation tables back toward Petyr, Sansa blinked rapidly as she watched Sandor turn to pretend to listen to Petyr prattle on incessantly about the King’s Landing Symphony Orchestra recreating Rachmaninoff’s last performance, including his famous piece, _Piano Sonata No. 2 in B flat Minor_ _._   Reaching for her water glass with her free hand, Sansa sipped her beverage while studying Sandor intently.  Sandor’s narrowed eyes were boring holes into Petyr as he went on and on ad nauseam about the orchestra’s magnificent performance and the composer’s rousing, emotional music.  Sandor looked so damn angry right now.  Was Sandor angry with her?  Did he mean to play along for a bit and then bust her in private?

Turning his head toward Sansa, Sandor caught her staring at him.  Leaning in close to her, still holding her hand, he couldn’t resist the temptation to needle her a bit, “What’s the matter?” Sandor whispered in her ear, “Cat got your tongue, little bird?”

“What are you doing?” Sansa whispered in return, catching Ros’s intrigued green eyes watching the two of them as they spoke.

“Doing?” Sandor huffed, feigning complete ignorance.

“Yes, _doing!_ ” she hissed as she squeezed his hand slightly.  She quickly tried to think of an excuse to leave the table, to pull Sandor aside, and to finally confess the truth.  Apparently, she was too late.

“I’m listening to your lying sack of shite employer pretend that he knows the first thing about Rachmaninoff, that’s what I’m doing,” Sandor snarled less-than-quietly.  He knew what she had meant, but damn him to the seven hells, he wasn’t going to make it easy on her.

Before Sansa could reply, she saw Petyr watching the two of them.  Dear God.  Petyr probably had heard Sandor’s pathetic attempt at whispering to her.  “So, Sandor,” Petyr interrupted smugly, “Do you enjoy travelling?  Been out of King’s Landing much?”

Turning his head from Sansa, narrowing his gray eyes at the skinny smart ass, Sandor knew that Petyr could detect what he thought was a native accent.  How wrong Petyr was.  “Yes, I like to travel,” Sandor answered while taking a deep breath to steady his rising ire, “Unfortunately, I don’t much anymore, what with my hours at the clinic and all.”

“Oh, are you a doctor?” Petyr cooed, the fake excitement obvious.

“Veterinarian,” Sandor corrected tersely.  When Sansa squeezed his hand in response to his response, he loosened his hand from hers and grabbed his glass of wine, downing the remaining contents in one swig.

“Ah, well, you’re almost a doctor then,” Petyr chuckled, staring at Sandor with daggered eyes.  Petyr, who was bent on showing up this obviously fake boyfriend of Sansa’s, had calculated his next move while enjoying the way Sandor’s jaw clenched firmly at his little jab.  Continuing to play this dark, dangerous game, Petyr continued, “Well, I for one adore travelling around the world,” he smirked, taking a sip of his wine, pleased with himself as his captive audience listened, “My last vacation to Scotland in the spring was fascinating.  I toured several castles while in Glasgow.  In fact, I stayed at Glennap Castle while I was there for the week.”

“Fascinating indeed,” Sandor hummed as a slight smirk stretched across his own face, “You know, I was actually born in Pollok, which is a suburb of Glasgow.”

As the table full of employees watched the conversation playing between Petyr and Sandor like they were watching a tennis match, Sansa swallowed hard.  She remembered from her conversation with Sandor during their date last night at the dog park that his father had immigrated to Westeros when Sandor was a young boy.  He had told her about how hard he had worked to try to lose his Scottish accent to fit in with the other kids, especially since his size and face made him stand out enough as it was.

“You don’t say?” Petyr added, his mouth pursed tightly.

“Yeah, I lived there till I was ten.”

“You don’t sound Scottish.”

“Aye, but I can when it suits me, don’t you know?” Sandor replied, reverting into his native accent.  Laughing internally, he reminded himself of his grannie when he spoke like that these days.

Sansa reached under the table with her foot, nudging Sandor’s sizeable paw with her own.  Kicking it slightly, she willed him to look at her.  She could feel the tension at the table thickening like glue.  Nope.  Sandor willfully wouldn’t look at her.  He so wasn’t budging on this one.

“You’re certainly a man full of surprises!” Petyr exclaimed in mock pleasure.  As the servers descended and filled the table with their plated meals, refilling water and wine glasses as the string quartet played, Sansa’s boss desperately tried to redirect the conversation to his imagined advantage, “Are you also an art scholar as well?”

“Not quite,” Sandor replied, the corner of his mouth quirked in utter defiance as he dared Petyr to say something else.

“Then you must let me take you and your beloved on a tour after dinner this evening,” Petyr crowed, pleased that he finally had the upper hand.  “Perhaps I might even teach you a little Dothraki while we view the exhibits.”

“You speak Dotrhraki?” Sansa gaped, her head snapping toward Petyr.

“Dothras anna chek,” Petyr answered confidently, imagining that he had won the little game he had started with Sandor.  Glancing around the table full of visibly impressed employees, Petyr added for good measure, “I just said, ‘Yes, I’m fluent.’  Not everyone can master a foreign language, but I found it to be quite easy.”

“Anha dothrak adakhataan,” Sandor responded, leaning back into his chair and folding his long arms in front of his chest.  Now the table full of Sansa’s coworkers quickly spun to stare at him.

Sansa’s blue eyes almost bugged out of her head as she turned her attention abruptly toward Sandor as well, “And _you_ suddenly speak it, too?”

“Had to have a foreign language credit at university,” Sandor shrugged, “I already knew Gaelic and French, so I figured, what the hell?”  Turning to smirk at Petyr, Sandor asked, “So, what did I say?”

“Uh…” Petyr stammered as he cleared his throat, licking his bottom lip while trying to figure out how to get out of the deep grave he had just dug for himself.

“I just said, ‘I’m about to eat.’  I’m actually surprised I remember how to say that since I don’t ever use Dothraki,” Sandor continued as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table while a server refilled his wine glass.

The rapidly escalating tension between Petyr and Sandor was virtually visible.  Her heartrate shooting through the roof, Sansa quickly looked around the table.  Not one person’s mouth was shut.  Every person was staring at Sandor in awe.  Everyone but Petyr.

“Some boyfriend you have there, Sansa,” Petyr growled, narrowing his beady blue eyes further, “Do you enjoy being the center of attention, Sandor?  I’m guessing that you do, since I assume that you’re quite used to it.”  The implication of Petyr’s words was not missed as Sansa’s colleagues began to look around at each other.  That was an insult.  Plain and simple.

“Nah, I hate it, actually,” Sandor responded loudly as he reached for his napkin, tossing it into his plate of untouched dinner, “I do enjoy telling blowhards like you to fuck off, though.”  Rising to his feet, Sandor glared down at Petyr, whose eyes widened comically as he watched Sandor stand.  That little dig was the last straw, and the proverbial camel’s back was about to be put into traction permanently.

“Sandor, please,” Sansa begged as she reached for his hand, trying to pull him back to his seat.  Sandor dodged her grip, lifting his hand to avoid hers.  _Holy shit, this is going south quickly!_ Sansa fretted as she looked toward Petyr.  Her employer’s face was beet-red, his eyes mere slivers as Petyr scowled at Sandor.

“Blowhard?” Petyr seethed, outwardly trying to remain calm as the table full of his subordinates gaped at the scene that was playing out to his detriment, “Need I remind you that _you_ are the one making a scene, sir.”

“I’m no sir,” Sandor snarled, “But if it’s a scene you want, I’ll be happy to oblige.”  Resting his palms on the table in front of him as he leaned forward, the eyes of the other sundry patrons in the museum now turning to see what was occurring at Petyr’s table, Sandor began his deluge while staring directly at Petyr, “First, Rachmaninoff’s last performance did include _Piano Sonata No. 2 in B flat Minor._   However, it was composed by Chopin, _not_ Rachmaninoff.  Second, Glennap Castle does in fact rent rooms to folks, but it is _not_ in Glasgow.  It’s in Ballantrae.  Third, for the record, ‘Dothras anna chek’ translates to ‘Ride me well.’  Thought you’d like to know that in case you’re in mixed company again.”

Returning to his full, impressive height, Sandor’s anger had all but consumed him.  Shooting a stern glance at Sansa, seeing how completely shocked she was at witnessing his over-the-top outburst, he realized far too late that he had gone way too far with his attack on Petyr.  Even though he was hurting on the inside at knowing Sansa wasn’t truly interested in him, Sandor had meant to protect her from her boss, not throw her under the bus.  “Sansa, forgive me.  I’m so sorry that I’ve embarrassed you.  I’ll see myself out the door.  I’m sure that one of your lovely coworkers here will see that you get home.”  With that parting salvo, Sandor spun on his heels, stalking out of the dining area, bursting through the nearest exit to escape from the pair of beautiful, cerulean eyes that had finally seen him for the giant ass that he really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breathe...it's a rom-com...just breathe...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After watching Sandor storm out of the art museum, Sansa decides that enough is enough when it comes to Petyr and his constant games. Meanwhile, Sandor attempts to reign in his emotions while standing by his truck in the parking lot of the museum. And when Sansa finally catches up to Sandor, she takes the proverbial bull by the horns and changes their lives forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is part three of Sansa and Sandor's cringe-worthy date to the art gala. Let's see if Sansa is able to salvage the damage done to Sandor's trust.

Someone once said that pride will always be the greatest distance between two people.  Thankfully for Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane, they managed to close that distance in record speed.

First, as Sandor’s well-dressed, hulking form quickly disappeared through the museum exit, Sansa sat immobilized in her seat.  Swallowing hard while watching the door slowly shut behind him, she desperately wanted to jump to her feet, bolt out that same door, and chase him down.  She wanted to tell him that instead of being a complete wuss, she should have had the courage to be honest with him.  She should have trusted that her handsome neighbor was intelligent enough to understand why she had told Petyr that she had a boyfriend in the first place.  And if Sandor had not understood her reasons then, he sure as hell would have understood her conundrum once he had laid eyes on the overt physical display they both had witnessed between her boss and his subordinates tonight at the museum.

Yet, Sansa’s legs would not work.  Dumbfounded not only by the sudden revelation that Sandor was even smarter than she had originally imagined, she couldn’t believe how immensely satisfying Sandor’s little high-noon showdown with Petyr had been.  At first, she feared that Sandor might actually hit Petyr should her sneaky, snarky boss flap his gums much longer.  And then, when Sandor began his rapid-fire verbal assault on Petyr like a machine gun, she instantaneously flowed from afraid to downright aroused.  Her huge, irate neighbor had not only very publicly put Petyr in his much-deserved place, but Sandor had stood up for her, even though he erroneously assumed that she was only interested in him as a bodyguard.  Sure, Sandor may have been a _tad_ melodramatic, but hey, her fake boyfriend did a damn fine job of shutting Petyr’s pompous puss like no one else had ever managed.

Lost inside her internal struggle, she barely heard her coworkers begin to speak.

“Sweet baby Jesus, girl…that man of yours is something else!” Olyvar gushed.

“Wow.  Just…wow,” Ros hummed, clicking her tongue behind her teeth, her eyes still wide with shock as she slowly shook her head from side to side.

“Your boyfriend is _so_ smart, Sansa,” Armeca sighed wistfully, quickly grabbing her wine glass and downing the remaining contents.

Turning her head from the museum exit toward the table full of chatter, Sansa felt like she was moving in slow motion.  The sounds of the string quartet playing, of the clinking silverware, of the voices all around her at the neighboring tables busy gossiping about Petyr’s extremely hilarious take-down…all the varied noises sounded distinctly muffled as if Sansa were deep under water.  Looking from face to face sitting around the table, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs.  Petyr still looked stunned, almost as if Sandor had reached across the round dinner table and slapped her snide little boss right upside the head.  Her coworkers still were staring at her with various forms surprise and amusement.

Sansa wanted to run.  She wanted to get the hell out of the museum, call a cab, and haul her butt back to her apartment.  And Sandor…damn it, it was high-time that she stopped acting like a scared little girl.  Steeling her nerves, reminding herself that she was a grown woman who should stand up for herself, Sansa determined to march right up to Sandor’s front door and demand that he speak to her.  She desperately wanted to tell him that she was sorry that she hadn’t warned him about her boss or her plans to let Petyr think Sandor was her boyfriend.   Sandor needed to hear her say that she wanted him.  For real.  She wanted him regardless of any circumstances.  Even if he never wanted to see her again when she was finished with her explanation and slammed his door in her face, then she would have to live with that fact.  But right now, Sansa would move heaven and earth to make Sandor understand that she truly wanted him because he was, well, _him._

The truth of the matter was that she thought about him all of the time.  Sansa often daydreamed about his silly little high-pitch chuckle when he was good and tickled at something or the way he smiled at her like she was the only thing in this world that mattered to him.  Even though their hands were no longer connected, she could still feel his touch.  And God help her, she assuredly could recall the way her privates tingled when Sandor had leaned in to kiss her out on the patio.  _What a complete moron you’ve been,_ she rebuked herself as she blinked hurriedly, emerging out of what felt like an enormous chrysalis.

“Well, Sansa,” Petyr finally mumbled, coughing slightly to clear his throat, smiling maliciously at her as he spoke, “Sandor is certainly very… _charming_ , wouldn’t you agree?”  Petyr looked long and hard at his table full of subordinates, tacitly daring anyone to say something else about Sandor that might even remotely sound positive.  “It’s not every day that a young lady finds a boyfriend like _that_ ,” he added for good measure.  The bitter, hateful tone simply oozed from Petyr’s thin lips.  Sansa turned her head to look into her employer’s narrow blue eyes just as he finished his volley with a devious wink, “Looks like you’ll be needing a ride home this evening after all, my dear.”  As her coworkers began to slowly resume their meal, all desperately trying to act as if nothing had just happened so they could keep their asses out of the cross fire, Sansa finally snapped.

“No,” she muttered softly, her eyes locked defiantly on Petyr.

“Excuse me?” Petyr asked, tilting his head to the side, pretending that he hadn’t heard her, “Did you say something, Sansa?”

“I said, _no_ ,” Sansa repeated forcefully as she reached for the linen napkin in her lap.  Rising to her feet, she mimicked Sandor’s actions from earlier, tossing the napkin into her plate of uneaten food.  “No, Petyr, I don’t need a ride home.”

“No?” Petyr laughed smugly, pursing his lips together as his jaw set firmly, his expression outwardly pleasant yet masking his anger and displeasure, “Come, come, now, Sansa, sit down.  Don’t be rash.  Dinner hasn’t even - ”

“Thank you, Petyr, for reminding me that dinner is underway, but if you’ll excuse me, I have a _boyfriend_ to catch,” Sansa hissed through clenched teeth, gradually faking a toothy smile as her bumfuzzled coworkers all gasped at the sudden shift in her normally perky, friendly demeanor.

“Sansa,” her boss warned, “Think about what you’re doing right now.”

Shaking her head furiously, Sansa without warning burst into a fit of laughter so loud that once again, neighboring tables full of museum guests were turning to watch episode two of “The Sansa Stark Show.”  This was it.  She was so going there.  Probably also going to lose her chance with Sandor and going to the unemployment office all within a twenty-four-hour period, but screw it…she was done.  D-O-N-E, _done_ letting Petyr intimidate her.

“If I had thought about what I was doing in the first place,” Sansa chuckled as her employer stared at her with curious eyes, “I would have stood my ground with you and declined your invitation to this event tonight.  Or, better yet, I would have had the guts to tell you to your face that I’m not interested in you.  I’ve never wanted you, and I never will.”  Feeling the power from her overt display coursing through her typically scene-avoiding veins, Sansa was on a roll and wasn’t about to quit, “As a matter of fact, if I had _really_ stopped to think about what I should have done tonight, I would’ve realized that I should have stayed at home with the man I…the man I…”  Her words trickling to a stand-still, Sansa felt an intense surge of heat envelope her.  Her heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wing inside her chest.  She was about to openly declare to the world that she was in love with Sandor.  And holy hell, she hadn’t even admitted it to herself yet.  “The man I love,” she breathlessly finished her tirade as the phrase finally rounded third and slid into the home plate.  As the words escaped her lips, Sansa felt her cheeks hurt from the size of the smile that overtook her flushed face.

_I love him.  I do.  I love him…dear, Lord, I’ve fallen in love with my neighbor…with Sandor…_

“Go on, honey,” Olyvar whispered with a wink, leaning over to pat Sansa’s arm.  “Go get him.”

Turning her head toward her smiling, surprisingly supportive colleague, Sansa felt a lump forming in the back of her throat.  Unable to speak, she simply mouthed the words ‘thank you.”

Petyr was a man who enjoyed being in total control of a situation and its inhabitants.  All but snarling at the tall, young redhead who dared to defy him, his façade began to slip, letting his true nature show, “Sansa, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll sit down _right now._ ”

“I do know what’s good for me,” Sansa replied as she shot Petyr a hateful glare, ignoring his tacit threat, “I just hope that I haven’t lost him.”  With that volley, she snatched her clutch off the table and literally ran out of the museum, bursting through the main entrance to the sounds of clapping emanating from both Olyvar and several surrounding tables of guests who had witnessed the entire performance unfold.

While Sansa was going down in a blaze of glory, Sandor was still in the parking lot of the art museum, standing beside his black truck.  Braced against the driver’s side, pushing his large hands against the door frame above the window, his head hung down, his eyes shut tightly as he willed himself to breathe slower.  Sandor was hot.  Angry, pissed off, low-down, mean-as-a-snake upset.  He felt like he was on fire, he was that mad.  Like he was burning from the inside out, and fuck the lot of them, he knew _exactly_ what burning felt like.  That smug, uppity boss of Sansa’s had pretended to be all cultured and civilized when in fact, the arrogant prick was nothing more than a charlatan and a predator.  If he hadn’t left the building when he did, Sandor was positive that right now, he would be cuffed and stuffed into the back of a police cruiser on his way to the station after having forcefully wiped the incessant smirk off that sleazy man’s face.

Sighing heavily as Sandor’s thoughts returned to Sansa, he was experiencing a tremendous amount of shame.  He was ashamed that he had allowed the gigantic volcano of rage percolating inside of him to actually erupt.  Although he absolutely enjoyed the act of taking down Petyr, Sandor most likely had managed to take down the woman he loved as well.  Sandor’s verbal sparring match and all-consuming indignation with Petyr had no doubt put Sansa’s job in jeopardy, not that Sandor could even begin to understand how a woman as pretty and as smart as Sansa could have lasted nine minutes, let alone nine months, in that insufferable prick’s employment.  Snorting at the memory of Petyr’s stupefied expression when Sandor put the little fucker in his place, the only consolation Sandor could find as a result of the entire farce was that at least Petyr was called out in front of an enormous audience such that all could see Petyr for the lying, worthless dick that he was.

Groaning as he released his death-grip on his truck door, rising to his full height, Sandor inhaled and exhaled deeply.  Sandor understood animals.  He’d been around them his whole life.  They made sense.  People…not so much.  Trust was not something that Sandor bestowed with ease.  Fuck, he could count on one hand the number of people that he allowed into his inner sanctum since his dad had died when Sandor was almost thirteen.  And it had been years since he had allowed himself to open the door for a chance at happiness with a woman.  _Years_.  Yet after only a couple of days in her company, Sandor had allowed Sansa to jack-hammer several sizeable stones from the humungous wall that he had erected around his heart.

_You’re a fucking screw up as always.  When are you ever going to learn that a woman like Sansa doesn’t really want you, you idiot?_

When Sandor looked over his shoulder at the art museum, he wished that he had never allowed himself to hope.  Hope can be a real bitch, can’t it?  Look where hope had gotten him.  Hope had allowed him to open himself up to the possibility that a woman such as Sansa could actually fall for a scarred, eccentric guy like him.  Sansa had made him feel emotions that he had buried in the deep, dark recesses of his brain ages ago.  In her presence, Sandor had almost instantly felt a breeze wafting through the huge chink Sansa had managed to gouge in the armor guarding his heart.  Sansa was gorgeous, funny, sweet…and if he were being honest with himself, she had managed to wrap him around her well-manicured finger in about five minutes flat during their little meet-and-greet Friday morning in the hallway of their building after he bounded to her unneeded rescue.

Feeling like a complete dolt for believing that she truly liked him, Sandor shoved his hand into his dress pants, cursing under his breath as he fumbled with his truck keys.  All he wanted to do right now was haul his sorry ass back to his apartment, take Stranger for a seriously long, exhausting walk, and collapse into his bed.  Come tomorrow, Sandor would revert back to his previous strategy of dealing with Sansa’s presence, slinking around the building to avoid any and all contact with his infernally beautiful neighbor.

Hopefully, Sansa was so damn mad at him right now for his gigantic outburst that she wouldn’t even bother trying to yell at him or to cuss him outright for his inappropriate behavior tonight.  Yes, living with her indifference was much preferred to dealing with her hate.  Sandor wasn’t sure if he could handle listening to her berate him, even if he actually deserved it.  Come to think about it, he was positive.  It would crush him to hear Sansa call him a sorry loser, a total jerk, a complete ass.  He’d proudly sported all of those monikers in the past, but hearing those words come from her plump, perfect mouth just might destroy him.

As he unlocked his truck, Sandor thought he heard a woman’s voice echoing in this distance.  Ignoring the sound as it was carried across the parking lot by the hot, moist air, Sandor stripped off his suit jacket, chucking it into the second-row seat before pulling and tugging at his tie until he had completely wrestled it free from his neck.  Finally ridding himself of his vest, he threw it on top of his growing pile of discarded clothes.  Loosening his shirt collar several notches to get some much-needed air, Sandor was just about to hop inside when he heard Sansa shouting at him.

“Wait!” she screamed as he turned to glance over his shoulder, “Sandor, please!  Don’t go!”

_You’re shitting me,_ he mused as his silver eyes widened at the vision of his gorgeous neighbor literally running toward him, _Well, I suppose I deserve it.  Take it like a man at least, Clegane._   Hanging his head in defeat, he slowly closed his truck door.

“Go ahead, woman.  Get it over with,” Sandor mumbled, his back to her as she caught up to where he stood, “Do your worst.”

“My worst?” Sansa replied, placing her hands on her shapely hips as she tried to catch her breath, “Sandor, I didn’t chase you down to yell at you.”

“You didn’t?” he huffed, finally turning around to face her, folding his long arms in front of his chest, resting his weight against the truck as he leaned backwards, “You didn’t run after me so you could murder me, remove my head, and display it on a spike?”

“Of course not!” Sansa answered, rolling her eyes in frustration, “I just want to talk to you about what happened in there.  Quit being so dramatic.”

“But I live for drama,” Sandor snarked, shaking his head as he chuckled darkly, “Hasn’t the Academy phoned yet?  Surely, I’ll win an Oscar this year.”

“Sandor, _please_ ,” Sansa insisted, trying to get him to stop deflecting his anger and pain with humor, “Will you just listen to me for a minute?”

“Yeah, alright, whatever,” he muttered, staring down at his feet.  Evidently, Sansa wanted to pretend to be all self-righteous about the whole incident instead of raining down her wrath on him with a vengeance.  She must have decided to play the “We’re just too different” game out here in the parking lot so she could make herself feel better about letting him down easy.  Or worse yet, Sansa might invoke the classic “It wasn’t going to work out anyway” excuse for telling him to sod off.  Oh, wait…maybe if he were really lucky, she would use the “It’s not you; it’s me” line.  That was always one of his personal favorites.  Fuck, standing there in her presence, seeing those sky-blue eyes looking up at him so full of pity…that was making it even worse.  Sandor changed his mind.  He would much prefer her screaming at him or telling him to go to hell over that.

“I want to tell you that I’m so, so sorry for not warning you about Petyr,” Sansa began, nervously shuffling her weight from one sky-high red heel to the other as Sandor decided to stare at her with narrowed eyes, “When he told me at the close of business on Friday that I had to come to this stupid art gala, I choked.  I mean, Petyr’s been hitting on me for _months_ now, and I’ve been such an idiot for not putting a stop to it.”  Swallowing hard, Sansa shifted her gaze to her feet, “I just kept denying what was so damn obvious.”  _Like how much I adore you_ , she thought to herself.

“And so, instead of reporting the cunt’s sorry ass for sexual harassment, you asked me to tag along to this little party in hopes that I’d get him off your back, is that it?” Sandor growled, trying to reign in his rampant ire but losing the battle.

“No, that’s _not_ it,” Sansa replied anxiously, looking up at him slowly through her lashes, “Well, yeah, to be honest, I did do that, but I’m sorry that I didn’t - ”

“That’s what I thought,” Sandor sniffed, “You saw an opportunity and ran with it.  I get it.  No worries.  I understand.  Apology accepted.  Happy now?”  As Sandor launched himself forward from his casual pose against his truck, he whirled around, yanking his truck door open to retreat to the private, lonely world he knew so well.

“Please, don’t leave yet!” Sansa cried out, grabbing him by his upper arm to stop him, “Just hear me out, Sandor.  There’s so much that I - ”

“Don’t, Sansa,” Sandor begged, his voice shaky and raspy, “Don’t pretend with me anymore.”  His head turned abruptly, his shoulder-length hair partially hiding his damaged face as he glared at her, “Yell at me for embarrassing you.  Hate me for disappointing you.  Call me a worthless fuck.  Do whatever you want to me, but don’t stand there reminding me that I’ve been a goddamn fool to think that you actually might want me.”

Holding onto his enormous bicep, Sansa could feel how tense Sandor’s body was.  He was like a coil wound too tight that was about to pop at any minute.  “You’re absolutely _not_ a fool,” she countered, gingerly stepping forward.  Taking a deep breath, she continued, “Please, don’t shut me out.  Do you really think that I was only using you to run off Petyr?  Do you think I’m capable of doing something like that?”

Staring into the depths of her crystal eyes, Sandor wanted to believe her.  The sincere, pleading look on her pretty face screamed that she was telling the truth.  Yet, his years of self-doubt were about to drown him.  “If you’re suddenly able to tell the truth now, why was it so damn hard to tell me then?  Why not just ask me to help you?  Why pretend?”

“Because…” Sansa paused, smiling slightly as she reached toward him with her free hand, softly moving the strands of hair hanging in front of his right eye as she remembered their magnificent date, “When you and I went out on Saturday, I had such a fabulous time.  It was the best date of my entire life.  Then, when I got up the courage to ask you to come to this ridiculous gala, I was scared that if I told you about Petyr, you would have panicked.  I didn’t want you to run back into your apartment and slam the door in my face again.”  Her slight smile faded when Sandor slowly pulled back from her touch, gently removing her hand from his arm.  “You have to believe me, Sandor.  I tried to tell you when - ”

“So, how did having me as a boyfriend work out for you, hmm?” Sandor snarked as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks, slightly tilting his head to the side as he looked down into her face, “Everything you imagined it would be and more?”

“Will you _please_ stop interrupting me?” Sansa groused at him, returning her hands to her curvy hips.

His one eyebrow locked and loaded in sheer defiance, he simply sneered, “No.”

“No?”

“Did I stutter?”

“Ugh!  Would you stop it?  Why do you have to be so hateful?” she hissed, rolling her eyes once again at Sandor’s determination to purposefully antagonize the situation at hand.

“Silly me.  And here I thought that you’d be glad of the hateful things I did when I was the one standing between you and your beloved boss,” he retorted bitterly.

Now Sansa was getting angry.  She knew that trying to talk to Sandor after he had fled the museum would be an uphill battle, but this infuriating tête-à-tête was like trying to take down an entire Roman legion with a pocketknife.  “Stop.  Just stop,” she demanded through clenched teeth as she stepped into his personal space, glaring firmly into his narrowed eyes.

“Stop what?” he asked innocently, trying his best to sound aloof and uninterested.

“ _This._   The whole act,” Sansa huffed, wildly waving her hand not clutching her clutch in the air.

“Act?”

“Yes, act.”

“What in the fuck are you talking about, woman?  What act?”

Sansa snorted, taking one step even closer, “You’re so busy judging me and my intentions that you won’t actually listen to me.  Petyr deserved what he got.  He’s had it coming for a _long_ time, trust me.  I’m probably going to have to quit my job come Monday if I don’t wind up getting fired because of your soliloquy, but it will be worth it.”  Sensing that she finally had his full attention, Sansa continued her attack, “So, you know what?  I _am_ glad that you were here tonight.  I _am_ glad that you were willing to help me even if you believed that I was using you.  But guess what, buddy?  I wasn’t.  I wasn’t using you.  I wanted you here with me tonight, regardless of the moron boss in question.”

“Is that so?” Sandor snapped as he opened his stance, removing his large hands from his pockets and mirroring Sansa’s pose by putting his own on his hips.  Taking a step forward himself, he was now so close to Sansa that she had to cast her eyes straight up to look at his face.

“Yeah, that’s so,” Sansa replied with a bit of bite laced in her words, not backing down one inch as she also moved forward, engulfing the last few inches of space between them.  Standing in her extremely tall neighbor’s personal space, she craned her neck to look at him.  Almost chest to chest, Sansa prepared to make her final stand, refusing to let him leave without telling him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing _but_ the truth.

“So _you_ can go ahead and yell at me for not asking you up-front to help me.  _You_ can hate me for wanting to spend time with you and for wanting to get to know you.  _You_ can tell _me_ to fuck off, and I’ll turn around and walk away, right here, right now, and I’ll never bother you again.  But don’t you _dare_ stand there and assume that you know what is in my heart.”  With that last comment, Sansa’s hard-as-nails demeanor shifted gears abruptly as her breath caught in her throat.  Willing herself not to cry, she couldn’t help the way her voice broke during the last few words of her parting shot, “I’m falling in love with you, damn it, and it’s killing me to know that I messed everything up as always.”

Sandor couldn’t breathe.  He felt like Sansa had just reared back and managed to sucker punch him right in the solar plexus.  Looking down into her beautiful face, her porcelain skin glowing in a creamy haze as the amber light from the sunset glowed behind her fiery mane, he felt his heart leap for joy.  Did Sansa just say that she was falling for him?  Could it really be possible? 

Bloody, buggering, fuck…of all the things that Sansa could have said to him, that was the _last_ thing Sandor had expected to hear.

And damn it all to hell, Sansa was right.  Yeah, she could’ve handled things differently, but really, he could say the same thing regarding just about every facet of his own miserable, lonely life.  Any attempt at a relationship that he had ever tried failed in part to his consummate rage.  At 31 years old, Sandor realized in that moment as he stared in total confusion at Sansa’s bold declaration of affection that he still behaved like the odd, angry little boy he once was.  He still reacted to people like he was a stranger in a strange land.  He hadn’t moved past being the giant, nerdy, socially awkward kid whose scarred face and unusual accent made him feel like a freak.

Watching Sansa choke back her tears as she silently turned to walk away, the utter defeat on her face wrenching his heart, Sandor’s rage evaporated.  As he grabbed her roughly by the wrist to stop her, he took a deep breath as he dared to risk putting his heart on the chopping block one more time.  “Sansa, don’t go,” he virtually whispered as she turned to look at him, her blue eyes wide as he spoke, “Please stay.  I’ve behaved like a complete ass, and I owe you an apology as well.”

Staring into his stormy gray eyes, Sansa blinked rapidly to keep her tears at bay when Sandor began with a sigh, “I’m sorry that I ruined your night, little bird.  That annoying little fucker whom you call a boss doesn’t deserve to live on the same planet as you.  I just couldn’t stand myself once I put two-and-two together.  I should’ve kept my bloody trap -.”

“Apology accepted,” Sansa grinned, enjoying the way his eyebrow shot up to his hairline when she interrupted him this time.  Sauntering closer, she raised her free hand, weaving it into his silky, wavy locks, leaning in close as she stood on the tips of her toes, “Now shut up and kiss me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, boy...y'all thinking what I'm thinking here?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor maul each other while standing in the parking lot of the art museum. On the way home, Sansa beguiles Sandor with her knowledge of Elvis's music catalog. And when the pair wind up back at the apartment complex, Sansa finally manges to wrestle Sandor's self-doubts away. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who have been patiently waiting for the next few chapters of this rom-com. In this installment, Sansa and Sandor don't actually cross the proverbial finish line, but I promise - the glorious, smut-filled moment you're dying to read will come very soon. For whatever reason, this story comes to me in bursts of 8,000+ words at a time. Since my beta is out of town on vacation, I don't want to inundate her while she's visiting Mickey Mouse and friends!
> 
> And if you're the type of person who likes a challenge, why don't you try to find the exact number of Elvis song titles I reference throughout the story? (Wink).

Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane discovered that the greatest relationships are the ones a person never expected to be in.

First, when Sansa tugged an obviously bewildered Sandor forward, she couldn’t help but giggle slightly at the way her typically outspoken, forthright neighbor appeared to be at a total loss for words.  The moment that their lips finally connected, however, her previously smug attitude at having rendered him speechless smacked her right in the face. Sansa was quite certain that the unbridled moan that escaped from her mouth was the type of noise that typically would have caused her to lock up in sheer embarrassment.  However, she suddenly became acutely aware that she didn’t feel ashamed for sounding a bit wanton.  She felt wanton.  Really, _really_ wanton, in truth.

As for Sandor, though he had both heard and logically understood the words that had flowed from Sansa’s perfect pink mouth just seconds before the hand that she had carded through his hair pulled him toward her, the events that transpired subsequent to the connection of their lips melded into one gigantic, grainy, distorted dream sequence like in some foreign film.  Sansa had not only asked Sandor to kiss her, but she had _demanded_ that he do so.  That action in and of itself instantaneously puréed his brain into an enormous vat of mush as he stood lip-locked with the object of his desire.  And even though he consciously knew that Handel’s _Messiah_ was not actually playing live at the moment, Sandor was certain that the “Hallelujah Chorus” was booming somewhere in the background.

Angling her head to the side, parting her mouth as her tongue tentatively caressed his lips, Sansa couldn’t help but feel like her knees just might buckle.  Without warning, Sandor let go of her wrist and grabbed her roughly by her waist, yanking her toward him as he willingly submitted to her tacit request, allowing her tongue to explore his mouth freely.  Of their own volition, Sandor’s hands travelled northward along her back, exploring the silky, smooth black fabric of Sansa’s cocktail dress, pulling her impossibly close as he pressed her firmly against his massive chest.  He continued to kiss her with every single ounce of passion that threatened to consume him.  Returning as good as she got, Sansa’s now freed hand found itself wandering along the planes and ridges of his muscular chest hidden underneath his white dress shirt, lightly scratching her nails along the crisp, dark hair exposed at his open neckline.

Spinning around like a top, Sandor shoved Sansa against the driver’s side door of his truck, sliding his hands downward now until they cupped her ass.  With a guttural groan, Sansa widened her stance, positioning herself like she had been taught for years during her karate lessons, involuntarily hiking her right leg up and wrapping it around his thigh.  Sandor growled in response.  Slowly rocking his hips into her now parted legs, he smirked when she gasped the instant that his erection began to nudge her core.  Capturing her mouth once again, Sandor leaned in to kiss her while he continued to knead her posterior, feeling unabashedly euphoric as he basked in the sensations pumping throughout his body.  Highly aroused and desperate for more friction, Sansa relocated her right leg, locking it around Sandor’s waist, effectively straddling him right there in the middle of the parking lot while scrubbing her clothed privates against his body.  Grabbing his head with both hands, holding him in place while continuing to allow him to plunder her mouth, Sansa felt like she was literally on fire.

Lost in the moment of their enthusiastic, supremely overt public display of affection, the two virtually devoured each other alive while standing all alone in the vast expanse of pavement in front of the art museum, too caught up in the moment to discern that they were creating quite a show for the patrons still dining in the art museum as well as the myriad vehicles passing by them on the main highway.  When a car finally travelled past them on the highway, honking several times in total support of their soon-to-be adults-only show, Sansa reluctantly broke their kiss long enough to come up for air.  Panting ragged breaths, Sandor rested his forehead on the top of Sansa’s head while she tightly fisted his dress shirt with both hands.

“We should…we should probably leave,” Sansa sputtered, her voice throaty and low, “Let’s go home.”  Trying to regain some semblance of dignity, she allowed her leg to slide down his side to the ground.  She enjoyed hearing him groan at that move.

“Right…home,” Sandor mumbled incoherently, blinking rapidly, utterly disoriented from the blood loss to his brain.  He was positive that at least four of the five liters of blood coursing through his circulatory system on any given day had immediately rerouted southward when Sansa began her lip lock.  For a few seconds, Sandor literally couldn’t remember his own name as he tried to reign in his urge to open the damn truck door, toss her inside, and have his way with her right here, right now.

Still neither one moved.

“Sandor?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we go now?”

“Sure, yeah.  Just…just give me a minute.”

“Give you a minute?  Oh…I see.”  Looking down between them, Sansa most assuredly _did_ see.  She smirked at his obvious excitement, his manhood still eagerly nudging her stomach as it attempted to let her know that her performance was highly appreciated.  “Right.  You need a minute.”

“More like ten,” he chuckled darkly as he lifted his head, staring down at Sansa while she continued to blatantly survey his stiffy that was poking at her through his dress slacks.  The gods help him but she was beautiful.

When she lifted her sky-blue eyes, the pupils blown so wide that barely any pigment was visible, Sansa felt a surge of lust heading straight to her core as she studied Sandor’s face.  The raw, absolute longing she could see in his stormy gray eyes sealed the deal.  She wanted him.  He wanted her.  Why fight it any longer?  She was tired of being a good girl, always minding her courtesies.  Jesus, she had just told the man not ten minutes ago that she was falling in love with him.  And Sansa had all but dry-humped him in the parking lot of the museum.  Surely, Sandor wouldn’t think her too terribly forward if she made a tiny little suggestion, right?

“If you want, I, uh…I can do something about _that_ ,” Sansa offered, worrying her bottom lip as she gingerly lowered her hand, dragging her long nails down his broad chest until she reached her target.  _Bingo_.  Cupping his highly-alert cock through his dress pants, Sansa internally prepared herself for whatever witty retort Sandor was about to lob her direction.  Much to her delight, the enormous man said nothing, actually.  Not one word.  In fact, the only sound that came out of Sandor’s mouth as it gaped open was an adorable little squeak.

Staring at her like an unmitigated moron, Sandor was yet again in a complete state of shock.  This gorgeous creature, a woman so confoundedly wonderful that she could have her pick of men, had chosen him.  Sansa was willingly groping him in broad daylight, and she had just announced that she wanted Little Sandor (relatively speaking, of course) to come out to play.  Unfortunately, the primordial goo that was once his brain wouldn’t fire the necessary neurons to make his mouth move.  Instead, Sandor was on the verge of one nuclear-level internal panic.   _Fuck, can she be serious?  Damn it all to hell, how far does she intend to take this?  Surely, she doesn’t mean to…want to…_

“I can hear you thinking, you know,” Sansa grinned widely, playfully squeezing his cock still nestled in her small palm.

“Bloody _hell_ , woman,” Sandor finally croaked, his right hand quickly grabbing a hold of hers to still her exploration, “Are you trying to kill me?”

Enjoying the way his eyes fluttered shut when she had tweaked his manhood, Sansa leaned forward, rising on her tiptoes to whisper in his good ear, “Maybe.  But won’t it be such a sweet way to go?”

“Don’t tease an old dog,” Sandor smirked as she continued to lightly massage his member, “I just might bite.”

Sansa grinned from ear to ear as she opened her mouth in reply, doing her damnedest to croon like The King himself, “Maybe I’d like a little more bite and a little less bark.  A little less conversation and a little more action.”  Holy hell but she was on fire tonight, folks.  Now she was channeling Elvis for sport, hoping to whip Sandor into a fluffy lather.  She couldn’t get over how utterly brazen she felt.  Jesus, if he didn’t watch it, she just might mount Sandor right in his truck while in route to their apartment complex.

Sandor’s eyes snapped open as she lowered herself to rest on the soles of her feet.  Staring at her in total surprise and pleasure, a shite-eating grin overtook his face as Sansa’s little nod to the King slowly seeped into his conscious brain.  “Someone knows her Elvis playlist better than she lets on, I see.”

“You know what, I think that tonight I just might be full of surprises,” Sansa purred as her tongue languidly traced her lower lip.  Although she was not the most experienced of young ladies when it came to the fine art of physical affections between a man and a woman, she steeled her nerves, telling herself that she had enough working knowledge of the male anatomy such that she could make Sandor happy or she would go down trying.  She had to bite her lip at that double-entendre, of course.

Without further ado, Sandor scooped Sansa into his strong arms, and much to his delight, she squealed loudly as he lifted her into the air.  “You don’t know what you’ve gone and started now, little bird,” he cautioned, stalking around his truck to the passenger side, fumbling with the door until he managed to yank it wide open, and unceremoniously plopped a giggling, giddy Sansa right into her seat.  “Buckle up, milady,” he chuckled as he leaned into the truck, stealing a quick kiss before rearing back, “I’m afraid you’re in for quite a ride.”

And, of course, Sansa couldn’t help but grin at _that_ double-entendre.

While on the truck ride back to their apartment complex, Sansa just couldn’t help herself.  Enjoying the way Sandor’s face lit up with merriment mixed with a healthy dose of lust each time she lobbed another Elvis song title in his direction, she wanted to reach across her body and pat herself on the back for doing her homework earlier that afternoon on Wikipedia.

“Are you all shook up over there?” Sansa snickered as Sandor, who was driving like a bat out of hell, barreled full steam ahead toward their apartment building, cursing under his breath at having been caught for the fifth time at a red light.

“Ha-ha,” Sandor snorted while reaching down to adjust himself yet again, his erection only abating slightly during their drive home.  “Don’t be cruel, woman.  Treat me nice.”  He was thoroughly enjoying this little lust-filled, verbal sparring match that she had instigated right before they left the museum.  Sandor had absolutely no idea how many Elvis song titles that Sansa could fit into a normal conversation, but damn him if her efforts weren’t making him even _more_ impossibly horny.

“It’s now or never!” Sansa chirped as the traffic light turned green and Sandor began to drive through the intersection.

“Surely, you’re about to run out of material?” he grinned, willing himself to keep his eyes on the road.

Sansa smirked deviously in return.  “Nope,” she answered, popping the ‘p’ a little for extra emphasis, “So, tell me…are you lonesome tonight?

They continued their playful banter for several minutes until finally they arrived at their destination.  Pulling into their apartment complex, Sandor laughed heartily as he parked his truck in one of the empty spaces in front of their building.  “You’re a hard-headed woman, you know that?” he joked, keeping their ridiculous foreplay alive, shutting down his vehicle and jerking the keys out of the ignition.

“What can I say?” Sansa taunted while leaning slightly toward him, an enormous grin consuming her pretty face, “I need your love tonight, you big hunk of burning love.”  _Oh.  My.  God.  I can’t believe I actually said that!_

Although he wasn’t quite sure if Sansa’s intent was to make him chortle or to work him up into a froth with that last cheesy little nugget, Sandor opted to believe it was for the latter choice.  “That can be arranged,” he dead-panned.  Mirroring her posture, Sandor leaned forward as well, reaching out to wrap his large hand in her fiery mane.  Gently pulling her to him, Sandor kissed her fiercely, letting her know just how “shook up” she was making him at present.  Pulling back slowly, he watched Sansa as she opened her eyes and smiled at him.  “So…your place or mine?” Sandor asked, his nerves starting to make his heart beat faster.  God save him but that was perhaps the most cornball pick up line of all time, and here he was, throwing it about like it somehow sounded seductive.  If Bronn were here, he’d piss himself from laughter.  _Fucking hell, stop thinking of Bronn!_

“Mine,” Sansa replied breathlessly as she watched Sandor hop out of his truck, round the front, and open her door.  Determined to try to reign in his lust and to behave like a gentleman, Sandor held out his massive hand, engulfing hers as he escorted her out of his Suburban.  Smiling at each other like absolute idiots, Sansa tugged on Sandor’s hand, just as she had at the museum, leading him up the front steps and into their building.  When they finally reached the front door to her apartment, Sansa let go, stuffing her black clutch under her arm, looking quickly over her shoulder at him as she bumbled about with her keys while trying to unlock her front door.  They could hear Lady whimpering and whining on the other side of the door.

“Sorry,” Sansa apologized as she shoved open the door, “She’s always so excited when I get home.”  Lady jumped and bounced around on her back legs like a rabbit, scraping the backs of Sansa’s legs until her beautiful master scooped the excited dog into her arms.

“Of course,” Sandor joked as he shut the front door for Sansa, smiling as Lady slobbered all over Sansa’s pretty face while Sansa kicked off her red heels by the door.  “If I were her, I’d behave the same way.”  Tossing his keys onto her bar, he leisurely stalked forward, “Do you need to take her for a walk before I stay for a bit?” he asked tentatively, reaching to scratch the back of his neck while staring at Sansa.

Feeling like a total dork, she couldn’t help the crimson flush that exploded on her cheeks thanks to the hidden meaning behind Sandor’s words.  _Jesus, this is really happening,_ Sansa thought as she swallowed hard.  In just a few minutes, she and Sandor would be kissing and touching and kissing some more and getting undressed and…holy, holy, moly, it had been a _very_ long time since Sansa had been with a man.  Her insides felt so wobbly right now, she wondered if Sandor could hear her guts rattling around inside her empty stomach.

“Nah, she’ll be fine.  Just let me put Lady into her kennel first so she doesn’t jump on your back right in the middle of…you know what, why don’t you have a seat?  I’ll be out in a minute!”  Turning abruptly on her heels, Sansa bolted to her extra bedroom-turned-office where she kept Lady’s kennel.

Apologizing profusely to her furry companion, promising a million treats come tomorrow, Sansa inserted her confused pooch into the cage with several toys, grimacing when Lady began pawing at the small kennel door as Sansa shut and locked it.  “I know, I know,” Sansa vowed as she scrambled to her feet, wanting to run out the door to return to the living room where her fake-for-now-boyfriend waited, “Sorry, Lady.  Just give me 30 minutes, OK?  I swear, I’ll take you for a walk just as soon as mommy can!”  The pitiful, dejected look on Lady’s face was about to melt Sansa’s heart.  “Come on, girl.  Don’t give me that face.  Please?”  Too late.  “Seriously,” Sansa sighed as she backed up toward the door, feeling guilty as Lady stared in complete misery at her horny master, “I’ll be back before you know it!”

Darting across the hall, Sansa groaned when she saw the mess that was her bedroom.  Hurriedly grabbing the dirty laundry strewn about her floor as quickly as her pale arms would move, Sansa stuffed the pile in the bottom of her closet.  Shoving the door closed, she turned on the small turquoise lamp on her nightstand, clicking off the overhead light as she exited her bedroom.  Might as well get the mood lighting started.  Taking a deep breath as she padded down the hallway, she grinned to herself at the thought of what awaited her.

Meanwhile, Sandor, who had seated himself on the burgundy couch on the end closest to the sliding glass door, tried to remember how to breathe as he began to slowly stew in his self-doubt the longer Sansa took to return.  The young, attractive woman had all but given him a stamped ticket to attend the show that was about to take place in her apartment tonight.  Fuck, he wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman in his entire life.  Yet as he heard Sansa scurrying about in the back as she kenneled her fluff ball, Sandor began to worry that any physical activity occurring between them tonight would be a one-time thing.  OK, yeah, she had told him that she was falling for him, but still, that didn’t mean that once they had engaged in whatever pleasurable activities Sansa would permit that she wouldn’t show him to the door and slam it in his scarred face.

Maybe Sansa was just excited and aroused and needed a quick release.  Perhaps this whole moment that had started with her kiss in the parking lot was nothing more than some ridiculous, outrageous form of apology.  Bloody hell.  If Sansa decided to have sex with him and then kicked him to the curb, Sandor was quite certain that he would _never_ be able to handle that.  Fuck, he’d have to run for the hills.  Sandor would have to break his six-month lease and move the hell out of the building effective immediately.  At least Bronn would be willing to take him and Stranger in while Sandor dealt with the landlord and tried to sneak around to collect his shite. 

“So, can I get you something to drink?” Sansa asked as she entered the living room, slightly startling Sandor from his thoughts.  Motioning to her kitchen with her thumb, pointing over her shoulder, Sansa grinned nervously as she moved to sit next to Sandor.  All she wanted to do was drag Sandor like a cavewoman back to her bedroom, divest him of the remnants of his designer-label suit, and show him just how much she adored him.  Instead of diving head-first into her raging hormones, Sansa tried to reign it in a bit, pretending to be all suave and totally at ease with the concept that she was _thisclose_ to having sex with him.  She was a lady, for goodness sake’s.  Surely her ridiculously tall neighbor didn’t want to be mauled and ravaged by an auburn beast, right?

“Uh…no, thanks.  I’m good,” Sandor replied slowly.

“Are you hungry?” she continued, fidgeting with the hem of her cocktail dress, “Because I can fix you something to eat if you want, I mean, since I messed up dinner and all.”

“I can eat later.”

“Yeah, sure.  Right.  So…”

Sandor’s gray eyes narrowed slightly, his head cocking to the side as he scrutinized her intently.  His pretty little bird seemed to be having second thoughts.  Buyer’s remorse, perhaps.  Sighing heavily at the notion that Sansa might want him to get his sorry ass out of her apartment and wasn’t sure how to just come out and ask him, Sandor decided that he would end this now for her.  He needed to give her a way out so she could put the kibosh on her earlier lust-fueled groping session back at the museum.

“Sansa, I can understand if you’re having second thoughts about us,” he told her as he motioned between the two of them with one hand, “You don’t have to go through with anything, you know.”  Slowly Sandor began to rise from her couch.  Kicking himself internally for how pitiful he must have sounded to her, Sandor steeled his nerves, determined to walk out her front door with his head held high and to maintain whatever dignity he might still actually possess.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Sansa snorted loudly, her voice echoing throughout the apartment.  She could have kicked herself for causing Sandor to doubt her intentions.  Well, this woman was through playing patty-cake with the enormous elephant-sized ball of tension in the room.  _Game on, big boy._

Before Sandor could even get into a standing position, Sansa dove from where she sat.  Pouncing onto him, she wrapped both her toned arms and legs around Sandor’s body like a jiu jitsu master, the sheer force of her attack causing him to lose his balance.  When Sandor’s ass made contact with the couch, Sansa muffled the gasp of surprise that Sandor emitted with her own mouth, descending upon him so fast, she hoped that she had made his vision blur.  Kissing him with all her heart and soul, tugging and pulling on his hair, Sansa determined to make him feel how much she wanted him.

Her azure eyes alight with mischief, Sansa reared back suddenly, practically gasping for breath.  Stroking his scarred cheek with her hand, she flashed him an enormous, wicked grin.  Whatever nervousness Sansa initially might have felt about being intimate with Sandor, it evaporated instantaneously the moment she could see the unsaid emotions percolating in his steely gray eyes.  A fire that had been smoldering deep inside her belly since catching him in the parking lot at the museum ignited so fast, Sansa was certain that she was about to spontaneously combust on the spot.  She could feel the wetness beginning to dampen her panties.

“Time for show and tell,” Sansa purred while reaching for Sandor’s dress shirt.  Taking her time, making it a point to go slowly, she deftly undid the pearlized buttons, biting her lip as she tugged the shirt from his dress slacks while yanking it wide open.  Sansa gasped.  Holy hell.  The man was built like a superhero, not a veterinarian.  Maybe she should start calling him Captain Scotland.  He looked _nothing_ like she could have imagined, and seriously, Sansa had been incessantly imagining that body in various states of undress for the last 48 hours. 

“Damn…just… _Sansa_ ,” Sandor barely choked out when Sansa’s fingers started to rake through the thick coating of dark, crisp hairs covering his chest and stomach.  He needed to try to redirect toward his brain some of the blood pooling in his crotch.  No luck.  For a man with his IQ, Sandor wasn’t quite sure he could even remember the alphabet at present.  “What do you want me to do, little bird?” Sandor pled, giving himself an internal high-five for at least remembering how to speak English at the moment.

“What do I want?” Sansa repeated as she gaped at the ridges and planes of his abs, her mouth literally watering as she traced the trail of hair running from his navel downward into the glorious abyss hidden under his clothes.  “I think you know what I want, Dr. Clegane.”

 _Ding, ding, ding – we have a winner here tonight, folks!_ Sandor heard echoing in his brain.  Fuck a duck…he felt as if he had just won the grand prize while a guest on one of those ludicrous daytime game shows he used to watch as a teenager after school while waiting for Gwen to serve dinner when Ray got home from the clinic.  Even though Sandor was absolutely smart enough to know what Sansa had meant, he needed to hear her say it.  He needed to hear the words that she wanted him to come out of her beautiful mouth.  His beautiful little bird, full of passion and want, might be straddling his lap and undressing him, but Sandor still needed to be handed an engraved invitation to the party that he so desperately wanted to attend.

Drinking in the vision that was Sansa, Sandor stared lovingly at her while he allowed her hands to roam freely.  Sansa was a goddess.  A princess from ages past.  The type of woman that a man would die for in a heartbeat.  Leaning forward to gently touch his kiss-swollen lips to hers, Sandor silently gave thanks to whatever gods that might exist for that damn little mouse that scared the shite out of Sansa on Friday.

“I need to hear you say it,” Sandor rasped when she lowered her perky mouth to place soft, feathery light kisses along his shoulder and up his neck.  “I don’t want to assume anything about tonight or…goddamn it, woman,” Sandor hissed in pleasure when Sansa shoved his hair out of her way and began to nibble on his earlobe, his large hands finding their way to her waist.

“I want you,” Sansa spoke softly, lifting her head slowly so she could look directly into Sandor’s face.  No longer teasing him or playing coy, she smiled sincerely at him while carding her hand through his hair, “I want all of you.  Please, Sandor…” she paused momentarily, her pale, lightly-freckled face full of raw lust and longing, “Make love to me.”

And it was in that very moment that Sandor finally allowed himself to let go of his self-doubts and hesitation, flinging them both onto the funeral pyre he imagined erecting for his self-denigration, stoking the whole damn thing with gasoline before tossing a torch on top for good measure.  Fuck his scars.  Fuck his pride and pissy attitude.  Fuck each and every woman who had rejected him on sight and had not bothered to get to know him.  In this moment, enveloped by Sansa’s surprisingly strong grip, Sandor could feel the one emotion that had eluded him all of these years:  love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon, Sandor...it's now or never! (Really, I can't control myself with the Elvis references in this chapter - sorry!)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though they must first navigate a series of painfully awkward and embarrassing interruptions to their evening of passion, Sansa and Sandor finally manage to cross the finish line. Boy, oh, boy...do they ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, dear readers, that it's taken me eons to get around to updating this story. Between my real life obligations and my fickle-as-fuck muse, it's been a slow-go 'round here. Hopefully, this 10,000+ word count chapter will make it up to you!
> 
> So no one is surprised, let me remind y'all that with this chapter, the story's overall rating has been increased to "explicit." And it's explicit for a reason...just saying. Enjoy!

Both Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane would never have predicted that their date to the art museum gala on Sunday evening would have lasted until Monday morning.  But it sure as hell did.

First, after hearing Sansa’s declaration that she wanted him to make love to her, Sandor was dumbfounded.  Staring into her crystal blue eyes, he literally wanted to pinch himself upon hearing her request.  He was certain that somewhere between telling Petyr the Pervert to fuck off and the present, Sandor must have died and somehow managed to slip under the radar to get into heaven.  Never a religious man, Sandor imagined St. Peter standing guard while on sentry duty at the pearly gates.  Known for sporting quite the temper while here on earth, St. Peter must have taken pity on Sandor tonight and let him in after all.

Whatever had happened in the course of the last 48 hours to bring Sandor to this moment, he knew without a doubt that he was luckiest fuck-up on the planet.

His steely eyes locked onto hers, Sandor remained silent, only his mouth quirking into a sinful grin as he slid his hands down from their previous post on her waist, following the smooth, black fabric of her skirt, lingering just for a few seconds on her knees before burrowing underneath the layers of silk.  Methodically gliding along the tops of her thighs, Sandor’s hands headed straight toward their target.  The look of unbridled lust consuming his beautiful little bird’s face when his fingers lightly touched her womanhood buried beneath a layer of pantyhose and underwear, Sandor lazily massaged her cunny with his thumb over the thin layers of fabric while he lowered his head to nibble on the creamy flesh of her neck.

“Holy…oh, God,” Sansa moaned breathlessly, throwing her head backward to allow him better access to her body.  Rocking her hips, grinding herself into his hand as she desperately sought more friction, Sansa gasped in pleasure when he gently bit down on her pulse point.  Aroused beyond belief, she inadvertently dug her nails just this side of painful into Sandor’s scalp, causing him to hiss slightly.

“Easy, lass,” Sandor chuckled, “I’ve got you.”  And with that vow, Sandor shifted his hands still hidden under her skirt to firmly grasp Sansa’s thighs, rising to his feet in one swift motion.  Emitting a tiny yelp as she unexpectedly was lifted into the air, Sansa caught on to his game plan immediately, wrapping her lithe legs around Sandor’s waist and locking her ankles tightly while grasping his shoulders with both hands.

“Bedroom.  _Now,_ ” she virtually growled as she attacked his lips with her own.  Her arms moved to hold him around his neck, tilting her head to obtain better access to his mouth.  As their tongues battled for dominance, Sandor blindly tried to navigate his pathway toward Sansa’s bedroom.  Subconsciously, he knew that their apartments were the mirror images of one another, so logically he could infer which room was the bedroom.  Unfortunately, the more fiercely Sansa attempted to consume him, the less likely Sandor was able to have a coherent thought.

“Which…one…” he managed to choke out between kisses, unable to speak for very long, thanks to Sansa’s assault.

Sansa lifted her head long enough to give proper directions.  “Second door on the right,” she rattled off at lightning speed before cutting off Sandor’s oxygen supply yet again.  Bumbling out of the living room, Sandor managed to circumvent the coffee table without tripping over it, stumbling only slightly as he carried Sansa down the hallway.  Finally making his way to her bedroom door, Sandor shoved the door wide open with his foot, causing an enormous bang once the partially opened door smacked against the wall.  Breaking their kiss, Sandor playfully tossed Sansa onto her queen-size bed, smirking proudly when she shrieked while bouncing slightly into the air.

And just when Sandor was about to come up with a witty, perhaps even raunchy comment upon seeing Sansa’s tongue slowly lick her lips as his hands found their way to his belt, their moment of impending passion was interrupted by one extraordinarily loud canine public service announcement.  Upon hearing the sonic boom resonating from her master’s bedroom when Sandor kicked the door ajar, not to mention Sansa’s vocalization of imagined terror, Lady went into a complete frenzy.  Boldly yapping at full volume, Lady called out to her female human, sounding the alarm, shouting in canine-speak that just as soon as she could manage to set herself free from her jail, Lady would valiantly come to her master’s rescue.

“Bloody hell,” Sandor snorted upon hearing Lady’s boisterous barks and growls.  His massive hands paused in mid-air yet still holding his belt as he listened to Sansa’s fluff ball, Sandor shook his head in amusement, “That little girl of yours sounds like a ferocious beast when she’s angry.”

Sighing heavily, Sansa gave Sandor a pleading look, holding her finger up tell him to stay right where he was as she scrambled off her bed.  “Don’t you dare move,” Sansa warned him as she darted out of the bedroom and across the hall to let her trusted companion know that all was well.  “Lady, hush!” Sansa called out to her noble hound, “Be quiet, girl!  Mrs. Mordane will not be happy with us if you keep it up!”  When Sansa jerked open the door to her spare room where Lady’s kennel resided, Sansa was shocked to see Lady charging full-steam ahead, the door to her prison furiously flapping in the wind.  Barreling out the door between Sansa’s legs, Lady charged down the hallway and into the living room, snarling and barking the whole way while surveiling the apartment for the imagined assailant at large.

“Lady!” Sansa sassed, charging down the hallway as well, trying to corral her perplexed pooch, “Come here!”  Bent on locating the source of that heinous thud, Lady ignored Sansa, pulling a Heisman-worthy juke move to the side as Sansa tried to scoop Lady into her arms.  Dashing down the hallway, Lady bolted straight into Sansa’s bedroom, inadvertently coming face-to-face with the very source of the mysterious noise.

“Gotcha!” Sandor bellowed, stooping down to nab Lady as she desperately attempted to twist her body such that she could skid to a stop on the carpet.  With her four furry white legs still flailing wildly in the air, the tall veterinarian embraced the excited yet confused young canine in his arms, scratching Lady behind her ears just as Sansa made it into the bedroom.

“Sandor, I’m so sorry!” Sansa puffed while shaking her crimson head and resting her hands on her hips as she paused in the doorway, “This was _so_ not what I had planned on happening.”

“Ah, it’s alright,” Sandor replied with a huge smile, still holding onto a now extremely pleased Lady, thanks to Sandor’s attention.  Rearing up slightly to plant a wet lick across Sandor’s scarred cheek, he chuckled at the whole crazy scene.  “She’s a good girl.  Fiesty as fuck, but she was just protecting her mommy, isn’t that right, hmm?” he virtually cooed to Lady, shutting his right eye and tilting his head just in time to avoid having his eyeball slobbered upon as Lady dove in for seconds.

 _Holy moly,_ Sansa thought to herself while watching Sandor interact with her dog.  Suddenly, Sansa felt her heart swelling even further with love and admiration for the man.  And damn her if he didn’t look like one fine hot mess.  His shoulder-length black hair all mussed, his lips plump and swollen, his black leather belt unbuckled and dangling from the belt loops, his white dress shirt still gaping open, Sandor reeked of untapped earth-shattering sex.  Yet standing in the middle of Sansa’s bedroom, cuddling the fuzzy schnocker while willingly submitting to Lady’s smooches, the enormous man looked so incredibly endearing, Sansa almost sighed like a fangirl.  She actually toyed with the idea of dropping to her knees in front of Sandor right then and there to show him just how insane he was driving her at the moment.

“You’re so freaking adorable right now,” Sansa giggled, leaning on the doorframe and folding her arms in front of her chest, “I seriously just want to eat you up.”

“Which one?”

“Both of you, actually.”

“What can I say?” Sandor joked, stalking forward unhurriedly toward Sansa as he artfully dodged another kiss from Lady, “I’m a sweet fucker.  When I want to be, that is.”

That little retort caused Sansa to drop her head down in utter amusement, belly-laughing as he finally stood before her.  Lady truly looked like a stuffed animal with Sandor holding her in his huge arms.  “So, should I leave the two of you alone?” Sansa teased.

“Nah, I’d much rather be alone with her mommy,” Sandor countered, leaning down to plant a fast kiss on Sansa’s smiling lips.  Raising to his full height, Sandor took a deep, slow breath, steadying himself for what he was about to say. “Why don’t you let Lady run loose over here, and instead, we could head over to my place and…well, maybe we could pick up where we left off?”  Fuck.  Just…did he really just say that?  Sandor hadn’t invited a female guest into his abode in over a decade, and even then, it had been Ray’s now deceased wife, Gwen.  Jesus H. Christ. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it safe to go in?  I mean, you’re a bachelor and all…” Sansa playfully wondered, unable to resist one more chance to engage Sandor in a verbal sparring contest.

“Are you implying that I’m a slob?” he snorted in return.

Sansa’s ginger eyebrow locked and loaded.  “Well, I have a dad and four brothers.  I know how neat guys are…just saying.”

“Humph,” Sandor huffed in mock indignation while scratching the belly of a very pleased Lady, “I’ll have you know that I am very well-trained and completely house broken, thank you very much.”

Knowing how much crap sat hidden in the depths of her closets as a result of her efforts to make her own place neat, Sansa giggled.  She assuredly had no room to talk when it came to keeping house.  Smiling at Sandor, she simply replied, “Let’s go, then.”

Plopping Lady down gently on all four paws, Sandor did not take his gray eyes off Sansa as he rose to his feet and half-heartedly reassembled his half-dressed state, deftly buttoning up his shirt a few inches and stuffing the shirt tails back into his pants.  “Go ahead and take care of Lady, and come on over whenever you’re ready,” he said as he loosely buckled his belt back into place.

“OK,” Sansa tittered, studying Sandor closely, her hungry eyes imagining exactly what she planned to do to him once she _finally_ got him out of the remnants of his designer-label suit.  Sighing at the sinful thoughts rapidly racing through her brain, Sansa beckoned him onward, leading the three of them down the hallway toward her kitchen.  “I’ll be over in a few minutes.  Be sure that you don’t start without me.”  And with that innuendo-ladened comment, Sansa swatted Sandor square on the ass while he passed her as he entered the living room.

When Sansa’s dainty hand made contact with Sandor’s butt, he was startled not only by the impressive sting she had inflicted but by the fact that the woman had actually whapped his posterior in the first place.  Sandor’s head whipped around, his black hair whacking him in the face as he turned to face Sansa.  _My, my, the little bird is a cheeky one, eh?_ Pulling his bottom lip under the top row of his teeth, Sandor chose to remain silent, instead opting to simply bask in the extremely feral look his fake (hopefully temporary) girlfriend was bestowing upon him.  Never in his lonely adulthood could Sandor recall a time when a woman ever looked at him like _that._

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Exiting her apartment and bounding across the hall to his own, Sandor hurriedly opened his front door.  He reached up to scratch his beard as he entered, tossing his truck keys on his own bar as stooped to yank off his dress shoes and socks, thinking about the implications of what was about to occur.  The idea of allowing Sansa to enter his sanctuary, the inner sanctum where only Ray, Gwen, Bronn, and Stranger had been allowed was almost as nerve-wracking as the idea that they were about to engage in carnal pleasures in said sanctuary.  Holy buggering hell.

Pleased to see Sandor return home, Stranger, who had been flopped on his side smack-dab in the middle of his ginormous gray plush doggie bed parked in front of the television, eagerly shuffled over to greet his master.  As Sandor squatted down to ruff Strangers’ fur, vigorously scratching behind Stranger’s floppy black ears, Sandor smiled at his long-time buddy.  “Daddy’s going to have his lady friend over tonight, mate,” he instructed his attentive canine companion, “You’ll have to be on your best behavior.  Don’t try to sit in her lap.  No crotch sniffing of any sort.  And make sure that you don’t pass gas while she’s still here, you understand me?  That’ll run the little lady off for sure.”  Offended at the implication, Stranger woofed tersely at that snarky remark.  Surely his human knew that he had no room to talk on the subject.  However, Stranger quickly forgave Sandor’s comment when he began to vigorously scratch Stranger under the chin.

Knocking lightly on the open front door as she entered barefoot into Sandor’s apartment, Sansa felt like she might melt into an auburn puddle at seeing Sandor interacting with his enormous dog.  She was once again struck with just how gentle and kind her pretend boyfriend was with animals.  Sandor was definitely a walking oxymoron.  Outwardly, Sandor seemed so tough, surly, and aloof, but on the inside, he was actually a gentle, loving, compassionate man who had so much to offer a woman.  Come to think of it, Sandor was like an oversized S’mores.  _Crispy on the outside but all warm and gooey on the inside_ , Sansa chuckled internally at her analogy.  In that moment, Sansa realized for perhaps the first time just how lucky she was.  Smiling from ear to ear, Sansa shut and locked the door behind her.  “What are you two boys talking about, eh?”

“Oh…nothing, really,” Sandor deflected, quickly rising to his feet.  Watching the pretty young woman slowly walk around his apartment and taking in the sight of his home, Sandor stood motionless like a guard on sentry duty, not moving an inch save his right hand which continued to scratch Stranger on top of his furry black head.  _Best to let the little bird have her look_ , Sandor mused to himself, hoping that what she saw pleased her.

Her bright, curious eyes drinking in the new scene, Sansa gaped as she assessed Sandor’s living room and kitchen area.  His apartment was the mirror image of her own in layout only.  Her place was a hodge-podge of second-hand furniture that she had pieced together from the local thrift shops and boutiques to create a trendy, mismatched-but-it-all-somehow-works look.  Sandor’s home, however, looked like it could have been ripped directly from the pages of a home design magazine.  The black leather couch and armchair, the combination of sleek, modern-styled silver tables and dark walnut bookcases, the pieces of vividly colored abstract art hanging on the walls in direct contrast to the otherwise monochromatic color palate, Sansa wondered if Sandor had decorated this place by himself or if he had hired a professional.   She had assumed that Sandor probably earned a decent income being a veterinarian and all, but the contents of his place seemed extremely high-end and perhaps even designer-label.

“Wow, your place is amazing!” Sansa gushed, peeking between the opening above the bar that separated the living room and eat-in kitchen.  She instantly assessed that the same could be said about the man’s choice of kitchen décor.

“Thanks,” Sandor hummed, trying not to sound so damn pleased that Sansa approved of what she saw.  Bloody hell, was he actually worried whether or not she’d approve of his furnishings?  Had he _really_ gotten this soft this fast?  Watching her smile at him as she sauntered around his abode, he smirked at his realization that fuck it all, he had indeed.

Lightly running her fingertips along the cool, leather fabric on the back edge of the armchair, Sansa narrowed her eyes as she studied the massive piece of colorful artwork displayed on the wall above his couch.  The canvas appeared to be an abstract, scenic landscape of sorts, the people and objects melded together by a mish-mash of bold, vivid colors.

“Keeping in mind that I know nothing about art,” Sansa offered with a giggle while pointing to the artwork, “That is really impressive.  Is it a reproduction of some famous artist’s work?”

“Well, no, actually…” Sandor began, stopping his attention toward Stranger while he slowly walked toward Sansa, “I did that.”

Sansa’s head jerked toward Sandor in awe, “You?  You painted it?”   _Good God,_ she wondered to herself, _Is there anything this guy can’t do?_

“Guilty as charged,” he jested, clearing his throat as he stood beside her, “I painted that one back in high school.  Imagined myself the next Matisse or some lofty shite like that.”

Sansa’s mouth curved into a sinful grin, “But I thought you told my soon-to-be-ex-employer that you didn’t know anything about art?  Did I just catch you in a lie?”

That little jab brought a humungous smile to Sandor’s face.  He reached out tentatively to hold her hand.  Thankfully, she eagerly accepted it.  “No, little bird, I didn’t lie,” Sandor beamed as Sansa studied his artwork once again, her sky-blue eyes scissoring over his creation in complete concentration, “The creepy pervert asked me if I was an art scholar.  I may know a thing or two on the subject, but I assure you, I am no expert.”

“I highly doubt that,” Sansa purred as she turned her body toward Sandor and blatantly eye-balled him, “You know what?  You’re quite the renaissance man.”  Leaning into his personal space, she titled her head, planting a gentle kiss on Sandor’s mouth.  When she pulled back slowly, tracing her bottom lip with her tongue, Sansa knew that if he didn’t hurry up and make the first move, she would wind up throwing on a pair of imaginary spurs and climb her dog doc like a tree.  “Have any more surprises in store for me tonight, Dr. Clegane?” she teased, hoping that he would get the hint.

 _Look who’s come out to play,_ Sandor thought to himself.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.  Care to find out, little bird?” Sandor grinned lasciviously, his voice a raspy whisper as he started to walk backwards toward his room.  Firmly tugging Sansa by her hand, he thoroughly enjoyed seeing the lustful look spread across her pretty, slightly-flushed cheeks.  Sandor vowed to himself as they breeched the doorway to his bedroom that he would take his time with Sansa.  Mentally preparing himself to take things slowly, he wanted to worship every square inch of her pale body.  He wanted to ensure that she found her pleasure…repeatedly…before he allowed himself to do the same.  He wanted to invest hours in discovering what she liked, how she liked it, and where in fact she liked it.

 

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Apparently, Sansa’s idea on the matter was radically different.

Without warning, the perpetually impatient redhead opted to move full-steam ahead with the evening at hand, jerking said hand right out of Sandor’s grip like a hot knife through butter.  Grabbing Sandor by his half-way buttoned shirt, Sansa unleashed the ferocity of her passion, lunging forward and crashing her lips against his.  Unable to right himself as he stumbled backward, her enthusiastic embrace caused the backs of his shins to bump into the side of his king-size bed.  Falling with an unceremonious thud, Sandor landed flat on his back as Sansa launched forward, straddling his hips and grabbing his dress shirt with both hands.  Before he could formulate a coherent sentence, Sandor startled slightly when his saucy partner in crime wrenched his shirt apart so roughly that the pearlized buttons shot through the room like flying bullets.

“I’ll buy you a new one, I swear!” she promised quickly before plundering his mouth with her own yet again, this time reaching for his belt.  While still engaged in a passionate lip lock, Sansa fumbled with his buckle and unzipped his slacks, stuffing her well-manicured hand into his boxers.  She thoroughly enjoyed the wrecked sound resonating from the back of Sandor’s throat the very moment that she grabbed his smooth cock, wrapping her long fingers at the base before beginning to pump him vigorously.  She almost winced at how tightly he gripped her hips thanks to that maneuver.

Unable to form a coherent thought once again, Sandor wondered briefly if spontaneous human combustion was in fact a real phenomenon.  As Sansa’s hand continued to explore his manhood, her thumb rapidly circling the head of his cock and spreading the leaking precum, he finally realized that this was in fact the second time that his randy little bird had manhandled him like a ragdoll, yet he had barely managed to even cop a feel.  If he didn’t regain control of the situation and regain it quickly, Sandor was certain that he would spill himself all over her naughty hand before he’d even had a chance to see her naked.

Before Sansa knew what hit her, she was being shoved backward and flipped in the air, her hand losing contact with the object of interest as she landed flat on her own back.  Wetting his lips as he stared hard into the lust-blown pupils of his highly-aroused date, Sandor now straddled her thighs, caging her in with his long arms momentarily before his hands reached for her knees.

“Oh, God,” Sansa gasped as Sandor’s massive hands slowly slid up her skirt and along her thighs.  A barely audible whimper escaped her mouth when he descended upon her long neck with his mouth, his full beard scratching her pale skin as he lightly nipped at her throat.  Sansa shamelessly wiggled underneath his weight while his hands traveled northward, rocking her hips into Sandor’s erection, her nails skittering along and scratching at his back.

Simultaneously pulling her underwear and pantyhose, Sandor gradually slid the articles of clothing down her body, watching Sansa’s chest heave as he rose to his feet, removing them completely, unceremoniously chucking said items over his shoulder.  He held out his hands to her, tacitly asking her to sit up so he could unzip and remove her little black dress, and like a good little bird, she did just that.  Reaching behind her, caressing her exposed back momentarily as Sansa looked up into his slate gray eyes, Sandor then reached for her skirt, tugging on it slightly, hoping she’d get the hint.

Sansa got the hint alright.  Grinning at him as she supported herself with her hands and raised her bottom off the bed, she smiled widely as Sandor scooted her skirt upward.  Quickly dropping her posterior back down to the bed, she raised her arms so Sandor could actually remove her dress.  Now sitting before him only clad in her bra, she felt a surge of wetness pooling between her legs as she reached behind her back and unclasped it while Sandor slowly dropped her dress to his bedroom floor.  Their eyes locked on each other, Sansa let the straps fall down her shoulders before she removed the undergarment completely, stretching her arm over the edge of the bed and allowing the bra to flop onto the floor right on top of her dress.

“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” Sandor rasped, his eyes openly raking over Sansa’s now completely naked form.

“And you’re still way too overdressed,” she countered.  Her hands darted out toward his unbuckled belt, jerking it from the loops of his dress pants.  Raising her gaze upward, Sansa didn’t look away as she pulled and unfastened his slacks, yanking them downward, taking his boxers along for the ride as well.  “Take off your shirt,” she commanded as his cock sprang free, bobbing inches from her face as she continued to drop his drawers.  She had already groped him while he was still clothed, but seeing him in the buff was a whole different story.  Staring eye-to-eye with his manhood, Sansa gulped.  _Jesus, I knew it.  He’s huge!_

Heeding the pretty redhead’s request, Sandor had his shirt shucked to the floor before Sansa could even manage to get his pants down to his knees, thanks in part to the fact that she had yanked most of the buttons off not five minutes ago and mostly to the fact that he was so damn aroused right now, it would take every fiber of his being not to shove her onto her back and mount her immediately.  Now that they were both naked as the day they were born, Sandor desperately tried to think of something to ratchet down his burning need to be inside her.  Running through a litany of erection-blocking images in his head, he settled momentarily on seeing Bronn naked in the locker room.  That seemed to be helping matters slightly until Sansa without warning shot Sandor a sinfully wicked grin right before she grasped his engorged cock in her hand and took him into her mouth.

“Bloody hell… _Sansa…”_ Sandor hissed, his eyes slamming shut and his face contorting with the pleasure of her warm, wet mouth sucking his dick, her hand pumping and tugging him just this side of rough as she bobbed her head up and down, establishing a delicious, glorious rhythm, her tongue alternating between swirling and flicking his sensitive flesh.  Damn him to the seven hells, he could die tomorrow and be the happiest fucker on the face of the earth.

When Sandor’s right hand found its way to her head, gently holding onto her and weaving his fingers into her copper mane, Sansa could tell that he was holding back.  She knew that he was trying _not_ to fuck her mouth in earnest as she worked him over with all of the gusto and finesse that she could muster.  Hoping that her skill set wasn’t as rusty as she imagined, Sansa decided to pull out all of the stops tonight.  First, Sansa retracted her mouth off his cock with a messy pop, looking upward until Sandor opened his eyes to look into hers.  With a mischievous grin, Sansa maintained eye contact, continuing to pump him as she leaned in once again, this time slowly swirling the tip of her tongue all along the rim, pausing a split second before running said tongue from base to tip, tracing the thick vein running the length of his sensitive shaft.  And, for her pièce de resistance, Sansa let go of Sandor’s cock completely, placing both hands on his well-defined hips, taking an enormous breath before diving in head-first as she relaxed her soon-to-be aching jaw and swallowed him down to the root.

“Fuck!” Sandor groaned loudly, gasping for air when his cock hit the back of Sansa’s throat.  When she moved to repeat her impressive maneuver, he knew that it would only be a matter of minutes (OK, fine, it was only a matter of _seconds_ , alright?) before he blew his load right then and there.  Before she could protest the sudden change in her game plan, Sandor firmly grasped his cock as she reared back again, causing Sansa to cease and desist immediately.  Looking at him with curious eyes, Sansa furrowed her ginger brows as Sandor willed himself to heel.  “On your back.  _Now,”_ he barked, motioning to his bed. There was no way in hell that he was going to allow himself to come before making sure that Sansa’s needs were met first.

Scrambling to obey, Sansa positioned herself just as Sandor had requested.  Worried momentarily that he had not liked what she had done, her concern died on the vine when he dropped to his knees before her, grasping her knees with his hands and roughly parting her legs.  Even though she had just had her mouth on his manhood, Sansa felt nervous and slightly embarrassed that Sandor was ogling her wet folds like a starving man let loose at an all-you-can-eat buffet.  “You don’t have to, you know, do that if you don’t want to,” Sansa squeaked as Sandor ran his hands up and down her smooth thighs.

“Is that so?” Sandor chuckled slightly, dipping his head downward, his tongue lightly grazing her cunny as he parted her nether lips with his fingers _._ The wanton sound that came out of Sansa’s mouth as he began to use his own to eat her out sent such a powerful surge of blood to his already swollen cock, he began to wonder if he might actually come in the middle of his efforts.  Dragging his tongue through her sopping folds, twirling it around her sensitive nub as he carefully inserted his finger into her womanhood, Sandor steeled himself, willing himself to maintain the stamina it would require to see this through.

As Sandor continued to tease her cunny, Sansa grasped his head, not necessarily to lock him in place but just to hold onto _something_ as he had his way with her.  With each and every movement of his mouth and finger, she could feel the heat rising exponentially in her gut, shooting through her core all the way to the tips of her ears.  Sweet baby Jesus on a bus, the man was talented.  Over and over again, Sandor lapped and sucked, laving and licking her ladybits like she was being worshipped.  And _holy shit_ , Sansa could not contain herself any longer when he added a second digit, curving the pair of naughty fingers oh-so-perfectly, tweaking that hidden spot inside of her that only had ever been entertained by her man-in-the-box.  “Sandor!  Yes!  Right there!” she cried out, her cerulean eyes slamming shut, shamelessly rocking her hips into his face while chasing down her release.

Resisting the urge to smirk while in the middle of one damn fine performance, Sandor upped the ante, taking her clit into his mouth and humming slightly in the process.  His efforts were rewarded with Sansa’s shout of ecstasy.  He relished the way his little bird’s thighs trembled right before clamping against the sides of heads, her fingers scraping against his scalp and tugging his hair as she rode out the sublime high of her climax.  Carefully Sandor withdrew his fingers, placing several gentle kisses on the insides of her thighs before wiping her juices off his beard with the back of his hand.

“You alright?” Sandor snorted in amusement as he looked up from her cunny, grinning at the vision of his naked, sated fake-girlfriend completely sprawled wide-open in the center of his king-size bed.  A man could _definitely_ get used to a vision like that.  As Sansa’s eyes barely cracked open, he made a show of popping his fingers into his mouth, pulling them out slowly as he sucked them clean.

“Just…holy shit…” Sansa panted, trying to catch her breath, her arms limp by her sides.  She was boneless already, and they hadn’t even actually done the deed.  Granted, it had been quite a while since the last time a man had tried that on her.  But seriously…that was nothing like she had experienced.  _Ever_.

Pleased with himself beyond belief, Sandor rose to his feet, his hand unconsciously wrapping around his stiffy, lazily pumping himself a few times while raking his eyes over her flushed bare skin.  He couldn’t decide if he wanted to take her _rightnow_ or see how many times he could make her come.  He opted to give her the choice.  “I could do that again, if you’d like,” Sandor offered as he stared at her, “As many times as you want.”

“You’re serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, God…”

“What’s the matter little bird?” Sandor chided as he released his dick, lowering himself onto all fours at the foot of his bed, stalking forward until he caged Sansa in between his arms.

“Nothing.  Absolutely _nothing_ ,” Sansa giggled when Sandor lowered his head, nuzzling her neck while his hands began to wander over her heated flesh.  Closing her eyes as he cupped her left breast in his hand, moaning when his mouth found its way to her nipple, she wove her hands into his hair, enjoying the sensation of his beard grazing her flesh and his tongue swirling around her areola before he lifted his head and lightly blew onto her hardened peak.  “Please, Sandor,” she pled as he shifted to the other side to repeat the same attention, “I need you.”

“I’m in no rush,” Sandor replied as he kissed his way upward toward her neck, traveling through the valley of her cleavage heading northward.  Kissing her long neck, he lightly bit down on the sensitive flesh where her neck met her collarbone, an action that elicited a guttural groan from Sansa.  “I want to take my time with you.  You have somewhere to be?”

“ _Hell_ , no,” she answered as she allowed her hands to wander freely as well.  They found their way to his muscular back, lightly scratching small circles as he kissed her skin, pausing briefly when she decided to reroute them toward his bottom.  Grabbing two handfuls of his ass, Sansa squeezed firmly, pleased with herself when Sandor gasped and inadvertently ground his hard cock into her stomach.  “I’m all yours.”

Buggering hell.  _All mine._ This was it.  The moment of truth.  Although Sandor knew on the surface what she had meant by her comment, he wondered if in fact that a deeper layer to her words could be found.  Once inside her, Sandor knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would be all hers as well.  Fuck, he had been hers since Friday if he were being honest about the whole affair.

 

_______________________________

 

Meanwhile, as Sandor and Sansa stood on the precipice, mere moments away from consummating their formally fictitious relationship, Stranger, who had given up the hope of going for a walk any time soon, huffed in irritation that the humans continued to make a racket back in his master’s den.  After his master and the female had disappeared and left him standing alone in the living room, Stranger decided that he would try to catch a nap until the female left.  No luck.  Unfortunately for the old dog, the groans and shouts drifting down the hallway were so damn loud, Stranger had to cover his ears with his paws to try to get any peace.  Fed up with the level of noise, the grumpy pooch decided to investigate to find out what in the hell was going on.

Rising from the warmth of his plush gray doggie bed, Stranger silently ambled down the hallway, nudging the partially shut bedroom door open with his oversized mastiff head just as the undressed female human emitted an intensely powerful, almost animal-like sound.  Cocking his head to the side while still in the doorway, Stranger stopped in his tracks, evaluating the situation at hand.  His also naked master was poised on his knees at the foot of his own bed, his head situated between the female human’s legs.  The enormous dog sat stoically in the doorway, watching the events as they unfolded.  For a few minutes, Stranger wondered if the humans were in the middle of greeting one another, but Stranger couldn’t remember a time when he had ever witnessed his master greeting a human like that.  But when his master rose to his feet, climbing on top of the female, the old dog snuffled slightly as his canine instincts kicked in.  Yup.  His master was about to mount the female and to mate with her.

 

_______________________________

 

Her eyes shut as Sandor methodically kissed his way down her flat belly, Sansa smiled as he lightly brushed her sides and hips with his fingertips, his hands ghosting down her thighs.  He had already warned her that he wanted to pleasure her all night.  Typically, Sansa would have just pushed onward to the main event, too shy or too embarrassed to even think about letting a guy spend that much time with his face buried in her privates.  With Sandor, however, she felt quite content to let the man explore her nether region as long as he saw fit.  Basking in the glory of his mouth as he placed feather-light kisses on her hip bones, Sansa prepared herself for the any-minute sensation of Sandor’s mouth on her cunny once again.  She allowed her hands to wind into Sandor’s long, black hair, leisurely stroking his head as he travelled southward.  And just as he finally, _finally,_ kissed his way to the top of her auburn curls, Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed at the sound of a rather heinous-sounding snort right beside her head.

“Jesus!” Sansa shrieked, her now-open eyes coming face-to-face with Stranger, whose head stood just inches from where she lay on the bed.  The dog had positioned himself next to the side of the bed almost as if he had paid for ring-side seats, waiting for tonight’s main event.  Thanks to his massive size, Stranger’s panting, extraordinarily curious visage rested virtually eyeball-to-eyeball with Sansa.

His own head snapping up at the sound of Sansa’s ear-piercing squeal, Sandor’s silver eyes widened in horror.  “What in the…Stranger!” Sandor barked, “Come on!  Get!  Go on, now!”

Even though his master was furiously waving his large hand in the air, Stranger didn’t budge.  He didn’t flinch.  Instead, he simply opened his mouth, licked his muzzle, and gave Sandor a low growl in defiance, his dark brown eyes narrowing as if to say “This is my den, too, damn it.”

“It’s OK,” Sansa laughed, still slightly mortified that Sandor’s pooch had been watching them have sex.  “Really, he’s fine.  I mean, dogs can’t help but be nosy.”

“Oh, no,” Sandor huffed as he bounded to his feet, slamming his hands onto his bare hips as he scowled at Stranger, “We had a talk before you came over here.  He knew better.”

“A talk?” Sansa questioned.  Now the image of Sandor having a man-to-man talk with Stranger about the events to come started swirling around her brain.  That was probably one of the funniest things she had ever imagined.  Unable to control herself, Sansa burst out into a fit of giggles as Sandor rooted around the bedroom floor, grabbing his green plaid boxers, “And did he give you any pointers?  Advice, maybe?”

“Ha-ha, real funny,” Sandor huffed while hiking up his underwear, realizing how utterly foolish he must sound right now.  He couldn’t help but crack a smile at his old buddy’s blatant curiosity.  “Listen, why don’t I take Stranger over to your apartment?  I know he’s just lonely.  He can hang out with Lady while you and I…finish what we’ve started.”

Sansa grinned from ear-to-ear.  Lady loved Stranger’s companionship, that much was obvious in the few interactions they had together.  And since no food was left out, the terrible twosome couldn’t decimate her kitchen.  “Sure,” Sansa responded, propping herself up on her elbows as Sandor exited the bedroom, “I’ll wait right here.”  Sansa broke down into the giggles yet again while thinking about the sheer insanity of the entire fiasco.

“Don’t you _dare_ go anywhere,” Sandor groaned as she flipped herself over, scooting quickly up his bed while on all fours, giving him an unhindered view of her naked backside and cunny.  He watched her pull down the navy striped comforter and sheets, sliding in between them, resting her bed-head on one of his pillows.  “Stay just like that.  I’ll be right back.”

All but running out of his bedroom, Sandor darted into his living room, grabbing Sansa’s keys off his bar, spinning to glare at his stoic pooch who had raced down the hallway to keep up with him.  “Really, mate.  You got to give a man some privacy at times like these.”  Reaching down to stroke Stranger’s back, Sandor offered his long-time buddy a deal.  “So, how about it?  Daddy will take you over to Lady’s place, and the two of you can play together for a bit while daddy plays with his own lady over here.  What do you say?”

Furiously wagging his tail, Stranger barked twice in response before lunging toward the front door.

“Eager are we?” Sandor snorted while trying to hide his amusement.  He sure as hell could sympathize with that feeling.  Glancing down at his boxers, Sandor knew that he really should run back to his bedroom and at least throw on a pair of shorts or athletic pants before ducking across the hall.  _Nah,_ Sandor mused as he cracked open his front door and poked his head into the hallway, _It will only take a second._

Dashing into the deserted hallway, Sandor shut his own front door and shoved Sansa’s housekey into her lock, expertly maneuvering it and unlocking the front door in record speed.  He could hear Lady’s snuffles and whimpers already, so he braced himself for the onslaught of eager-as-fuck little dog attention that awaited him as he opened Sansa’s apartment door.  However, once Lady caught sight of Stranger as the giant canine sauntered into Sansa’s abode, Lady completely ignored Sandor as if the giant vet didn’t exist.  Lady galloped throughout the living room like she were on a race track, obviously giddy that she was about to have some canine company.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Sandor chuckled as he watched Stranger sniffing and exploring Sansa’s apartment, all the while with Lady scurrying under the giant dog’s four legs or jumping so high she could almost, well, mount him.  With that parting salvo, Sandor bounded out of Sansa’s apartment, shutting her front door and locking it once again.  Turning on his heels, pleased with himself for formulating his brilliant plan, Sandor quickly strode across the hall, desperate to return to his awaiting beauty.

 

_______________________________

 

Apparently, Sandor must have committed a grievous sin or two in a past life judging by the number of times his attempts to be intimate with Sansa were thwarted tonight.

Twisting and turning his front door handle, Sandor quickly realized that he had inadvertently locked himself out of his apartment without his housekey.  In his haste to get Stranger a playmate, Sandor had forgotten that his front door was hinky like that.  “Fuck,” Sandor growled under his breath, pulling and tugging on the handle with his massive hands so hard that he hoped he broke the goddamn thing.  “Sansa!” Sandor called out, rapping his knuckles on the front door.  Maybe if he were lucky, he could rouse her without rousing the rest of the floor.  Nothing.  “Sansa, come open the door!  I’m locked out!” he tried again, this time knocking a tad louder.  Still nothing.  Resting his forehead on the door, Sandor took another deep breath, knowing full-well that he was standing in the hallway of his apartment building in nothing but his boxers.  With his impatience threatening to kick into overdrive, Sandor tried to breathe, willing himself to calm the fuck down.  He really should have thought this plan through.

Come to think of it, Sandor _had_ thought this through, actually.  When Sandor had moved into this confounded building two months ago, Bronn told Sandor that he should leave a spare key under the doormat, just in case he ever wound up locked out of his apartment.  “ _Only an idiot locks themselves out of their own place,”_ Sandor had laughed at his best friend, who had been guilty of such a moronic offense so many times that Sandor had lost count.  Citing various crime statistics as to why such a hiding place was stupid, Sandor scoffed at Bronn’s suggestion, simply rolling his steel-gray eyes when Bronn wagged his finger, claiming that Sandor would be sorry one day for not listening to his advice.  Standing almost naked in the hallway of his apartment building with a sexy young redhead waiting for him in his bed, Sandor felt his blood pressure rising exponentially.  Right now, Sandor wanted to not only kick the motherfucking door off the hinges, he also wanted to kick Bronn’s imagined self-satisfied ass for being right.

“Sansa!” Sandor shouted, hammering his fist against the wooden door loud enough to raise the dead, “Please!  Open the - ”

Sandor’s words evaporated the instant he heard the distinct sound of a door clicking open from behind him.

“Dr. Clegane!” he could hear Mrs. Mordane gasp in shock.

Turning around slowly as he sighed in defeat, Sandor gritted his teeth.  With her door halfway open, the old busybody stood frozen in her doorway.  Clad in her fuzzy green bathrobe and house slippers, her graying hair knotted into a plethora of pale pink curlers, Mrs. Mordane looked like she had just showered.  Yikes…now there was a train of thought Sandor assuredly did _not_ want to take.

“Go back inside, Mrs. Mordane.  There’s nothing to see here,” Sandor spoke as politely as he could muster, praying to all the gods both known and unknown that she would get the fuck back inside her apartment.  From the direction her gaze headed, however, Sandor almost gagged when he realized that the older woman was literally giving him the once-over.

“Young man,” Mrs. Mordane continued with a haughty air of superiority, her beady eyes rising quickly to meet his, “You really ought to be ashamed of yourself.  Running around the building like that...”  Mrs. Mordane tutted at Sandor in her displeasure, shaking her head while her eyes subtly raked over his unclothed form once again, “How positively indecent!”

“And yet, there you stand while staring at me,” Sandor snarked in reply, folding his arms in front of his hairy chest as he rested his weight on one bare foot.  “Get a good look, eh?  Had your fill yet?”

The complete look of indignation that consumed the older woman’s horrified countenance caused Sandor to grin when her eyes finally met his again.

“Well, I never!” Mrs. Mordane gaped, utterly mortified at the implication that she was trying to catch a peek, even though she was.

“That explains a lot,” Sandor interjected, “Really, it does.”

And before Mrs. Mordane could reply to that insult, Sandor’s front door jerked open.  In the doorway stood Sansa, who was wearing one of his t-shirts.  One of his favorites, actually.  It was the black one with the silver medieval-looking hound head on it that Ray had bought for him at some renaissance festival ages ago.  That must be why she had taken so long to get to the door; she had been scrambling about Sandor’s bedroom, desperately searching for something to throw on before letting him back into the apartment.

Grinning like a fool, Sandor unashamedly raked his steel gray eyes up and down her lithe form, ogling the miles of creamy flesh not covered by the black fabric.  And her nipples.  _Bloody, buggering hell…_ her perky pink nipples were standing at full attention, tenting his thread-bare t-shirt like The Pitons.  Damn him if he didn’t want to climb her twin peaks right here, right now.

“Sorry it took so long…” Sansa began, her words trailing off as her hand darted to cover her mouth, her sky-blue eyes widening in horror as they focused on Mrs. Mordane, who still stood in her own doorway.

Sandor grinned at Sansa as her gaze turned toward him, “Ah, it’s alright,” he teased, pointing with this thumb over his shoulder toward his irritating across-the-hall neighbor, “Mrs. Mordane over there has kept me company.  No worries.”

“Miss Stark!” Mrs. Mordane guffawed, crossing her arms, her hateful glare now fixated on Sansa, “Really, I expected better from you… consorting with the likes of this one!”

“This day’s really not working out the way you planned, is it?” Sandor asked Sansa, completely ignoring both Mrs. Mordane and the fact that he was still virtually naked and standing in the hallway.  Sansa’s ginger eyebrow rising in amusement, she lowered her hand from her mouth, moving to the side to allow Sandor to enter his apartment.

“Not.  At.  _All,_ ” Sansa replied as she purposefully stepped into Sandor’s personal space.  Crowding him in the door way, she pressed herself against his muscular body, her hands cupping his ass as she lifted on her tiptoes, locking her mouth with his.  When he kissed her in return, Sansa’s hands wound themselves into his black locks, pulling him impossibly close as they started to grind against each other.

“You two should be ashamed of yourselves,” Mrs. Mordane huffed angrily, the rampant tone of distaste dripping from her words, “Perverts!”

Breaking their kiss long enough to shove Sansa slightly into his apartment, slapping her on the ass and enjoying her boisterous yelp in return, Sandor quickly spun on his heels, gripping the doorframe as he leaned slightly into the hallway.  “You think me a pervert?” he replied, his voice full of innocence but his face full of sin, “You have no fucking idea.”

And with that parting salvo, Sandor slammed his front door shut right in his highly-stunned and extremely mortified neighbor’s face.

 

_______________________________

 

“Oh.  My.  _God!_ ” Sansa snorted loudly, covering her mouth with both hands as Sandor turned on his heels from slamming the front door, “I can’t _believe_ you actually said that to her!”  Her giggles muffled slightly, Sansa could not stop her raucous fit of laughter.

“The old nag already hates me.  Might as well finish her off, eh?” Sandor offered with a chuckle, smirking as he slowly stalked toward her.  Although he was still seething on the inside about the whole affair that had unfolded in the hallway with the nosy old bitty, he couldn’t help but enjoy the fact that Sansa was amused by the whole wretched ordeal.

As her merriment subsided, Sansa felt a surge of want coursing through her veins while gazing upon her mostly naked neighbor’s physique.  For what felt like an eternity, Sansa had wanted to be intimate with Sandor, yet at virtually every turn, another cock-blocking event occurred.  Like just about every facet of Sansa’s short life, nothing ever went as planned, not even the act of sex.  How in the hell could it be this hard for a man and a woman to find a moment’s peace?

Making a split-second decision before any more ridiculous interruptions could get in their way, Sansa opted to forgo slow and romantic for now.  Later, they could wallow in each other’s arms, peppering one another with languid kisses, taking their sweet time as they unhurriedly explored each other’s body.  Yup, all of that romantic lovey-dovey stuff would just have to wait.  Right now, hard and fast sounded like a really good option to Sansa.  Like, _really_ good.

Without warning, Sansa went for the hem of her pilfered t-shirt, lifting it in one swift motion before yanking it over head.  “If you’re not inside me soon, Dr. Clegane,” Sansa vowed, dangling the soft, thread-bare shirt from her fingertips, “I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”  And with that volley, she lobbed the t-shirt toward Sandor, all the while relishing the extremely surprised look overtaking Sandor’s face as she stood completely naked before him smack-dab in the center of his living room.

“Fuck, woman, are you trying to - ” Sandor rasped as he caught his t-shirt, gawking at the vision in front of him, his question cut off mid-stream when Sansa’s mouth crashed into his.  Jumping into his arms, Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, devouring him as she plundered his eager mouth.  Dropping the shirt to the floor, Sandor grasped her thighs firmly, supporting her naked frame in his arms, the warmth of her bare cunny pressed against his waist causing his brain synapses to once again misfire.  He kneaded her ass with his hands, stumbling blindly down the hall to his bedroom as fast as humanly possible.  As soon as he found his way to his king-size bed, Sandor plopped Sansa down and hastily shucked his underwear to the floor, climbing onto the bed and straddling her thighs.

“Sandor, _please,_ ” Sansa moaned as she watched Sandor lean across her body, reaching for the drawer of his nightstand.  She had to repress a laugh at the curses he emitted while fumbling with the contents.  Thankfully, it didn’t take him too long to unearth a shiny foil packet.

Rearing back onto his haunches, Sandor bit the packet with his teeth, tearing it open and tossing the empty wrapper behind his shoulder.  Even though he would rather walk on a bed of nails before he actually told Bronn “thank you” for his little reminder during their texts on Saturday to make sure that Sandor was prepared in the event of an emergency, Sandor actually caught himself muttering the words inside his brain, sighing with relief as he rolled the condom onto his thick, stiff cock.

Opening her arms wide, Sansa felt a rush of want slam into her ladybits when Sandor moved to rest his weight one arm, nudging her legs apart with his knee, lowering himself between her legs, taking his member into his hand and nuzzling it against her slit.  As he slowly pushed the head forward, parting her nether lips and entering slightly, Sandor’s eyes slammed shut.  “More,” Sansa demanded playfully, smiling at him when Sandor finally managed to wrench his gray eyes apart, “I need you to be inside of me.

Silently obeying her command, Sandor began to inch forward, staring directly into her eyes as he tentatively pushed deeper and deeper inside her slick warmth.  _Fucking, fuckitty, fuck._ Sandor was certain that he was about to embarrass himself.  No way around it now, folks.  There was no way in hell that this wasn’t going to be over quickly.  Oh, it would be over quickly, alright.  Very, very quickly indeed. 

Sansa groaned at the sensation of his cock raking against her inner walls.  Still, though, it was not enough.  She wanted it all, and she wanted it _now_.  Wrapping her long, pale legs around his waist, she squeezed tightly, pressing down firmly on his lower back with her calves, which caused Sandor to emit a gasp as he entered her fully in one swift motion.  “Move, Sandor.  We can do slow later,” she promised.  Angling her hips, Sansa began to writhe below him, biting her lower lip as she rocked and ground her pelvis into his.  “Take me, Sandor.  Please?”

Holy hell.  Yet again, Sandor found himself dumbfounded by the sheer intensity of how passionate his little bird could be.  The leggy redhead was driving the bus once again, taking charge and letting him know what she wanted and how she wanted it.  Assuming he survived their first round of lovemaking, Sandor would be more than happy to go along for the ride as many times as she desired.  Yet if Sansa kept moving like _that_ and continued to sound so damn erotic and didn’t stop worrying her lips like…oh, yeah.  This was going to be over in record time.  “Sansa, love…if you…don’t…I…we…” Sandor choked, his breaths coming ragged and sporadic as her nails scraped roughly across his back, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Sansa whispered before pulling Sandor to her, kissing him with all her might.  Her tongue battling his for dominance, her hands ensconced in his long hair, Sansa felt that vaguely familiar tingling in her gut.  Hanging on as if her life depended on this very moment, Sansa sensed the heat rising in her bloodstream, the surge of synergy wafting throughout the bedroom as Sandor began to pound into her.

Lost in the glory of the moment, Sandor broke their kiss, pushing back with his powerful arms, lifting his torso slightly so he could look down into Sansa’s face as he relentlessly drove himself into her willing mound.  Gritting his teeth, Sandor determined that he would bloody well make sure that she came before him, so he shifted his weight to his left arm, reaching down with his right hand to where they were joined.  He began to vigorously rub the sensitive little pearl hidden in the depths of her folds, hoping that Sansa was as just as far out on the edge as he was.

“Yes!  Right there!  Sandor…yes!” she cried out in ecstasy, her eyes screwing shut in pleasure as he massaged her clit while thrusting into her.  “Faster, please!”

“Come for me, little bird,” Sandor panted, desperate to watch her fall apart before he spilled, “Can you?”

“I think…yes, I…” she barely squeaked as he continued his ministrations.

“Look at me, Sansa,” Sandor begged her, hoping that she was almost there, “Please…look at me.”  He stared at the sinful vision before him as he increased his speed, hammering her cunny, pulling out and pushing back in at a terribly rapid pace.  The woman was a work of art.  The crimson flush darting across her lightly-freckled cheeks, the barely visible sheen of sweat glistening in the valley of her breasts, the wanton sounds of pleasure emanating from her kiss-swollen mouth…Sandor bit his bottom lip, holding in the three little words that he so desperately wanted to say to this magnificent creature who had chosen him.  Sansa was everything that he had ever wanted.  The gods save him, Sandor was positive that he was the luckiest fucker on the face of the earth.

Barely able to crack her eyes open as the heat began to coil in her belly, Sansa was astounded at what she witnessed.  The raw, pure, unadulterated yet unspoken emotions swimming in Sandor’s features made her heart leap for joy.  Sandor loved her.  Without a shadow of a doubt, Sansa knew that her enormous, snarky, smart-as-fuck dog doctor wanted her like no other man ever had.  And Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, in that very moment, Sansa let go.

“Sandor!” she gasped as her orgasm washed over her, her hands digging into Sandor’s shoulders so deeply she knew he would have marks tomorrow.

And as her walls clamped down upon him, squeezing him like a vice, Sandor haphazardly thrusted into her a handful of times right before he came with shout and a shudder, his body briefly freezing in place before his arm began to tremble under his weight.  Unable to support himself any longer, Sandor collapsed onto his king-size bed next to her, rolling over to his back while staring at the ceiling above him.

Lying on her back as well, Sansa mirrored Sandor’s pose until she felt him tugging at her arm closest to him.  No words were spoken between them as she silently repositioned herself onto her side, nestling her wild mess of formally-coiffed auburn locks against the crook of his shoulder.  As she lightly stroked the coarse, dark hairs on Sandor’s chest, Sansa worried her bottom lip, her mind racing a thousand miles an hour while trying to process what she should do next.  _Should I go home?  Does he want me to stay overnight?  What in the world should I be doing right now?_

Her answer came when the distinct sound of her gurgling empty stomach rang vividly throughout Sandor’s bedroom.

“Hungry, are you?” Sandor chuckled while lightly stroking her hair.

“Uh, yeah,” Sansa giggled, slightly embarrassed, “I mean, I haven’t eaten in hours.”  Rising up on her elbow, she smiled down into Sandor’s highly-pleased, post-orgasmic, blissed-out countenance, “How about you?  You hungry?”

“Famished, actually.”

“I could make good on my offer from earlier.  I can fix us something to eat, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I would.  I’d like that.”

“Fantastic,” Sansa grinned widely as Sandor reached up to push aside the sundry renegade copper strands from her loosened up-do that were hanging in her eyes.  Suddenly, Sansa remembered that she in fact owned a dog and that said dog really needed to go for a walk before the dog in question left her a yellow puddle on her carpet. And Lord help her, who knows what mischief Lady and her new best friend were up to over there.  But before Sansa could tell Sandor that she needed to let Lady outside the apartment for a potty break, Sandor beat her to the punch.

“Tell you what,” Sandor began as he smiled up at her, “Let me clean up a bit, yeah?  Then once I find some clean clothes, I’ll take Stranger and Lady for a stroll while you concoct something for us to eat.  Sound good?”

“That sounds…perfect,” she replied slowly, trying to absorb the fact that this huge man could almost read her thoughts.  Bending down to plant a quick kiss on Sandor’s lips, Sansa moved as if she were about to jump out of the bed, the silky, high-thread count navy sheet starting to slide down her bare breasts.  She didn’t move far before Sandor’s hand lightly gripped her forearm, holding her in place.

“And Sansa…” Sandor added, almost as if it were an afterthought as she quirked her head to the side, her ginger brows furrowed in curiosity, “I’ll be in charge of dessert.”  And with that innuendo-laced comment, he shot her an awfully suggestive wink, his heart swelling with joy as she threw her head back in laughter once again and smacked him square on the chest with her dainty hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm dying to know...what do you think Mrs. Mordane did when she went back inside her apartment?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Sansa and Sandor have crossed the proverbial finish line, they both attempt to figure out what exactly they want from each other, and thankfully, they are both on the same page. And while the fledgling couple sort out their burgeoning relationship, Lady and Stranger forge a lasting friendship, much to the detriment of Sansa's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaack! Sorry, dear readers, for the serious delay in updating this story. Between getting sidetracked on other WIPs, real life obligations, and general all-around writer's block, I have had a tough time figuring out where this story would lead me. Thankfully, I now have a clearer vision for our two beloved protagonists, so please sit back and enjoy this chapter as they feel their way through the beginnings of a real relationship!

For once in Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane’s lives, they stopped being afraid of what could go wrong and thought about what could go right.

First, as Sansa’s laughter subsided after hearing Sandor’s unspoken promise to give her another round after they ate, she did not feel the need to jump right out of bed just yet.  Instead, she remained perched on the edge of Sandor’s king-size bed, his sizeable hand still gently holding her forearm, as her gaze drifted along the contours of Sandor’s face.  For the briefest of moments, still holding the silky sheet high enough to cover her naked breasts, Sansa allowed herself the chance to really look at him.  Sure, she had looked at him _plenty_ over the last few days and especially during the last few hours, but somehow now that they had consummated their fake-relationship, Sandor simply seemed, well, different.

Titling her head to the side as she studied his curious countenance, Sansa’s smile never left her face as she considered him closely, trying to put her finger on what exactly it was about the man that had changed in the last 48 hours.  Sandor seemed calmer.  Happy, too.  Playful.  Relaxed.  He also seemed sated.  _Definitely_ sated.

Was that it, then?  Was the sudden shift in Sandor’s demeanor just a byproduct of his post-orgasmic high?  Or was there something more to it?

As she continued to scrutinize Sandor’s features, she could not help but smile from ear to ear when Sandor started rubbing his hand up and down her forearm ever-so-slightly, grinning at her as if he were tacitly giving her permission to truly examine him.

In that moment, lost in the depths of Sandor’s silver eyes as he patiently waited for her to finish her visual exploration, Sansa felt a tingle way down deep in her gut.  Not the lustful, randy kind of tingle that she had experienced not so long ago, but the warm, slightly humming sensation that a woman feels in her stomach when she realizes that the very object of her desire actually reciprocates her feelings.

Sansa was no idiot.  She may behave like one from time to time, but that was beside the point.  Sansa was certain that Sandor wanted more from her than just a tumble.  Sandor was in this just as deep as she was.  What had been developing between the two of them went way beyond something purely physical.  There was no other explanation for it, really.  Why else would a man as smart as Sandor continually put up with her shenanigans yet still keep coming back for more?

Sandor trusted her.  He wanted her.  And maybe, just maybe, he even _loved_ her.

And right as Sansa was about to start over-analyzing the situation at hand just like she was apt to do, Sandor cut her off at the pass when his hand suddenly traveled northward, sliding along her bare arm until his sizeable paw found its way behind her neck, pulling her toward him, placing a soft, gentle kiss to her very willing lips before he pulled back deliciously slow.

“Mmm,” Sansa purred as Sandor rested his forehead against hers, “That was nice.”

“Yeah,” Sandor grinned, his large hand carding through her messy, post-sex bedhead.  “It was.”

As he met her curious gaze, Sandor wondered if Sansa could tell how far gone he was.  The most amazing part of the whole scenario was that Sansa actually possessed genuine feelings for him as well.  In all of his years spent being alone, Sandor never once imagined that he would be so damn lucky.  For whatever reason, this beautiful young woman fancied him.  His scars didn’t disgust her; his foul mouth didn’t offend her; and his quirky, painfully direct demeanor hadn’t scared her off.  And come hell or highwater, Sandor was bound and determined to figure out just how in the hell he could keep Sansa in his life.  Permanently.

Sighing heavily as he finally let go, Sandor cocked his head to the side, shoving his long black hair out of his eyes as he processed his feelings for Sansa.  He was in love.  He was already up to his eyeballs in love, and they’d barely even started to get to know one another.  It might be a bit premature to say the words out loud, granted, but the feelings were there nonetheless.  Right here, right now as he watched Sansa study him intently, Sandor wanted nothing more than to grab her into his long arms, flip her onto her back, and bring her pleasure all night.

Unfortunately, duty called.

By now, Stranger and Lady really needed to go for a walk.  It had been hours since either dog had the opportunity to relieve themselves properly.  Being an older, more mature canine, Stranger could contain himself virtually all day if need be.  Lady, however, was a much younger and considerably hyper little pup who most likely was so excited at having some doggie company that she would either have an accident on Sansa’s carpet or explode while trying to hold it in.  And knowing those two furry bandits, Lady and Stranger were probably tail-deep in some sort of nefarious scheme by now over at Sansa’s place.  Yeah, Sandor really need to get his ass in gear and get over there to check out what those two were getting into.

Sandor decided that for once he would be a proper gentleman and would allow the lovely lady still wearing nothing but her birthday suit the chance to get dressed without him ogling her.  Without further ado, Sandor flung the sheet off his legs, walking completely naked to his dresser to pull on some clothes.  “I’ll go check on Stranger and Lady,” he said with his back to Sansa as he jerked a clean pair of underwear out of the drawer, “Take your time getting dressed.  Just tell me where you keep your leash, and I’ll meet you back at your place in a bit.”

As he stood in front of the dresser, bending over to step into a pair of red plaid boxers, Sandor heard Sansa’s feral groan wafting in the air behind him.

“You’d better hurry, or I just might not let you leave this room tonight,” Sansa sighed, blatantly eyeballing Sandor’s sculpted frame.  Upon hearing her wistful little display, Sandor spun on his heels to face her, his mouth drooping open like a surprised fish.

Still stunned by her wanton comment, Sandor raised his eyebrow in challenge.  “That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea,” he grinned, anticipating that Sansa was preparing to engage him in a round of verbal sparring, preferably of the sexual kind.  “But I promised you that I would walk the dogs first, so walk the dogs I shall.”

“Maybe…” Sansa replied slowly as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, tilting her unruly mane to the side, looking up at him through her long lashes, “If you’re up for it, we could sneak in that dessert _before_ you take them for a walk?”

Although Sandor had been lining up his playlist of potential witty retorts to her show of sauciness, his ability to think rationally went up in a cloud of smoke the minute his eyes witnessed her naughty little hand still clutching the navy bedsheet over her breasts sliding lower and lower and lower until...

“I…they…” Sandor sputtered while blindly walking toward her, staring at her bared flesh like a man half-starved.  “You know what, that sounds like a terrific idea.”

_______________________________

 

Meanwhile, as Sansa and Sandor were busy getting to know each other on a very intimate level for the second time this fine Sunday night, Lady and Stranger were busy bonding as well.  After Sandor had left Stranger to his own devices in the smaller dog’s abode, the massive mastiff immediately surveyed the situation, sniffing and snuffling around the entire perimeter of the living room, searching for any possible trace of that damn fine meal that he had the privilege to devour a couple of days ago.

As Stranger moved about the living room, Lady whinnied and scurried between his sizeable legs, desperately trying to capture the older dog’s interest while he patrolled the perimeter.  Quickly, though, Lady realized that Stranger was on a mission and was not to be diverted.  Realizing that she needed something to entice her furry companion to want to play, Lady dashed over to her crate of doggie toys just as Stranger entered the kitchen.  With her fuzzy muzzle, she rifled through her most prized possessions, hoping to find something to attract Stranger.

Oblivious to Lady’s scheme, Stranger continued his very thorough inspection of the kitchen area until he was completely satisfied that he was not going to find any trace of human food.  The older dog decided to go find a place to park himself until his master decided to fetch him.  Shuffling out of the kitchen and into the living room once more, Stranger was startled to find a most eager Lady standing on her hind legs, jumping and twirling about with one of those annoying little squeaky toys sandwiched between her teeth.

Stranger absolutely _despised_ squeaky toys; thankfully, his master figured that out years ago.  Those obnoxious little buggers drove Stranger batshit crazy.  They made the most heinous of sounds, they tasted awful, and he could eviscerate one of those damn things in less than five seconds flat.  So, parking himself in front of the coffee table, Stranger cocked his large head to the side, issuing one terse woof of displeasure.

Undaunted by her companion’s rejection, Lady refused to give up hope that Stranger wanted to play.  Immediately plopping down onto all fours, she raced once again to her stash of toys, determined to find just the right item to bring out Stranger’s hermetically sealed inner puppy.  As she stuffed her head inside the opened crate, Lady spotted her crazy bouncing, virtually indestructible ball that her master used to play fetch.  Grabbing the toy into her mouth, Lady darted back to where Stranger stood, carefully laying the object at Stranger’s very confused paws, hoping that this toy would finally get the giant pooch motivated.

Much to Lady’s pleasure, Stranger’s ears instantly pricked forward upon seeing her second selection, his long, muscular tail wagging so hard that he accidentally knocked over a photo frame resting on the female human’s coffee table.  A Wunderball.  A much smaller version and definitely hotter pink version of the very same ball that Stranger also owned and adored, yes, but still, it was a Wunderball.  The most glorious ball ever evented as far as Stranger was concerned.

Things were definitely looking up for Stranger tonight.

 

_______________________________

 

While Sansa hurriedly scurried about Sandor’s bedroom while trying to collect the discarded pieces of her art gala ensemble, Sandor propped his naked form against the headboard of his bed, all the while studying Sansa’s every move.  Damn him if she didn’t remind him of some sort of ginger squirrel the way she flitted and flittered about his bedroom.

“Do you always move about like that?” Sandor chuckled as he watched Sansa gathering her dress and undergarments into her arms so fast that she was almost a blur.

“Like what?” she fired back instantly, shooting him a cheeky grin as she tossed her clothes onto the foot of his thoroughly trashed bed.  Grabbing her panties off the pile, she stepped into them and turned around slowly, making sure that Sandor garnered a terrific view of her backside as she bent over to pull them northward.

“Like a damn tornado,” Sandor teased, his tongue dancing along his lower lip when she let the waistband of her panties snap against her waist for added emphasis.  “You always appear to be in a hurry to get somewhere.”

While Sandor waited for whatever saucy retort she might cook up on his behalf, Sansa, who had snatched her bra from the pile of collected clothes during Sandor’s little bout of snark, chose to forgo said bra, instead opting to dangle the silky undergarment from her raised right hand, opening her fingers and allowing it to return to the pile of clothing that was resting on the foot of Sandor’s bed.  With a devilish grin, Sansa spun on her heels, sauntering her panty-covered butt over to Sandor’s dresser where she began to root around in the half-open drawer she had plundered earlier while looking for something to cover herself to get to the front door during Sandor’s inadvertent lock out.

“I do _not_ move about like a tornado, thank you very much,” Sansa replied while digging through Sandor’s folded clothes until she found the perfect selection.  “Iron Man?” she questioned, yanking the blue shirt emblazoned with the superhero’s image and holding it up in front of her bare breasts for Sandor to see.

“What?” Sandor scoffed in fake annoyance, folding his arms in front of his hairy chest.  “You’re not the only Marvel fan in the world, you know.”

“Oh, I’m so keeping this one,” Sansa giggled as she slipped her arms into the oversized t-shirt and threw it over her head.  Laughing as she twirled about like she was modeling Sandor’s own clothing for him, she just could not get over the fact that she could almost wear his shirt like a damn dress, it was that long.

“You can have it,” Sandor smiled as the thought of Sansa walking around her apartment wearing his clothes overtook his blissed-out brainwaves.  A man could definitely get used to seeing a vision like that.  “But, to be fair…” he added quickly, darting forward to snatch her bra from her stack of rumpled clothes.

“Hey!” she squealed in surprise, her bright eyes wide with mischief as she witnessed Sandor twirling her bra in the air by the strap, “Gimme that!”

“Nah, I think I’ll keep it,” Sandor taunted as he leaned to the side, jerking open the drawer to his nightstand and stuffing the bra inside right before slamming the drawer shut.  “Consider it a souvenir.”

Caught off guard by Sandor’s returned playful behavior, Sansa snorted loudly in glee, covering her mouth as his bearded face contorted into an adorable, self-satisfied grin.  “Fine,” she added with a tremendous amount of attitude, placing her hands on her shapely hips, “Just don’t wear it, and we’ll call it even.”

“I don’t know,” Sandor quipped, pretending to contemplate her suggestion, “Pink might be my color.”  With that retort, he bounded out of his bed, pleased with the way Sansa’s eyes quickly raked over his body once again as he grabbed his boxers off the bedroom floor.

“Yellow,” she grinned as she watched Sandor begin to dress, “I think yellow is your color.”

Now sporting a plain gray t-shirt and a pair of black athletic pants that he had unearthed from the depths of his previously pilfered dresser, Sandor laughed out loud at her joke.  “Yellow, you say?  Well, I am fond of black.”

“Yellow and black it is,” Sansa added as she gathered the vestiges of her art gala uniform into her arms, “Definitely black.  It matches your hair.”

“Shall we?” Sandor asked, his lips quirked into a smug grin as he waved his arm outward toward his opened bedroom door, following Sansa out of his bedroom and down the hallway toward the front door, making damn sure that he stopped long enough to grab not only Sansa’s keys but his own house keys, wallet and cell phone off the bar before venturing into the abyss of this confounded apartment building.  He did not want to get locked out again tonight for fuck’s sake.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Sansa teased, shooting him a cheeky smirk over her shoulder.

“Again with the ‘sir,’ eh?” Sandor chuckled as he opened the door for Sansa, propping it open with his foot, grabbing Stranger’s leash off the hook.  “Always so polite and courteous.  Such a proper little lady you are.”

Looking directly into Sandor’s amused gray eyes, still clutching an armload of discarded clothes and shoes, Sansa shot him a mischievous wink, “Well, that all depends on whether you’re dressed or not, now doesn’t?”

Now good and tickled by her boldness, Sandor threw his head back, emitting a slightly high-pitched laugh that echoed throughout the deserted hallway.  Reaching for Sansa’s lock with her house key, he actually remained silent, grinning to himself that for the first time since he could remember, he didn’t feel the urge to get in the last word when engaging in a head-to-head battle of wits.

“I wonder if I’ll have any furniture left,” groaned Sansa, who was anticipating an attack of slobbery kisses from Lady at any given minute, as Sandor unlocked her front door.  “There’s no telling what those two have been up to over here.”

And then Sandor couldn’t resist the set-up she just lobbed his direction.

“I’m betting that they’re wondering the same thing about us, love,” he declared nonchalantly, enjoying the way that Sansa’s pale blue eyes narrowed in enjoyment as he pushed open the door.  “I’m sure that they’re just fine.”

 

_______________________________

 

The look of horror that flashed across both Sansa and Sandor’s face when they actually stepped into her apartment would be nothing short of an Oscar-winning performance if someone had managed to capture it on film.

The living room looked like a bomb had exploded inside of it.  Scattered about the floor beside the coffee table and end tables were the various photos and knickknacks that Sansa normally kept perched on top.  Beside the end table closest to the hallway leading to the bedrooms was one of Sansa’s lamps, thankfully not broken yet sporting a slightly askew shade.  Various throw pillows also were strewn about the living space, almost as if a dog (or two) had sprinted right across the furniture itself and had taken the pillows with them.

And whom should Sandor and Sansa find sprawled out on the living room floor, laying together in a worn-out, thoroughly exhausted jumble of black and white fur, a tangle of both long and short canine limbs all heaped on top of one another? 

“Lady!” Sansa gasped, immediately shucking her armload of gala wear to the floor next to the front door as she surveyed the wreckage of her living room.

“Stranger!” Sandor barked, tossing Sansa’s keys to the bar separating her living space and kitchen area, his massive hands flying to his hips.  “What in the _hell_ did you do over here?”

Both dogs simply raised their heads, too tired after their extremely rousing game of fetch, each wagging their tails at their masters as if to say “sorry” for creating such havoc while left to their own devices.

When Sansa’s perplexed eyes met with Sandor’s gruff expression, they couldn’t help but burst out into a raucous fit of laughter.  Their curious canines simply cocked their heads to the side, both wondering what in the world had gotten into their masters tonight.

 

_______________________________

 

After helping Sansa return her apartment to its former appearance, Sandor took the canine culprits for a brief walk, partly because they were too tuckered to go very far and partly because he wanted to get back to the beautiful redhead.  Once Sandor had returned with two exhausted yet relieved pooches, the fledgling couple sat down at Sansa’s dinette set, enjoying the simple yet tasty dinner that she had prepared while he had been gone as Stranger snored loudly, flopped on his side by the sliding glass door with Lady curled up next to him in lieu of snuggling up in her plush hot pink doggie bed.

“I have to say, this has been one hell of a weekend,” Sandor chuckled as he reached for his water glass.  “Nothing at all about it has been normal.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Sansa giggled, toasting along with Sandor as they both took a long sip from their water glasses.

The irony of the situation at present, though, was even though it actually wasn’t a normal weekend for Sandor, it _felt_ like it could be.  While dining together, enjoying their simple meal of grilled cheese sandwiches and vegetable soup that Sansa had whipped up using the leftover ingredients that she had purchased for her gourmet lasagna, Sandor found himself immersed in a bubble of euphoria.  The gorgeous young woman sitting across from him, still wearing nothing but her panties and his Iron Man t-shirt, chatted and joked with him as if they had been doing this for years.  Barely into the start of whatever this relationship was, Sansa appeared completely comfortable and totally at ease with him being a part of her life.  What _did_ she want from him, exactly?  Sandor knew what he wanted.  Could it actually be possible that she wanted the same thing?

Only one way to find out.

“So, Sansa,” Sandor began, clearing his throat as he sat his water glass down on the table.

“Yeah?” she chirped, her eager blue eyes alight with pleasure while she did the same.

“I…I was wondering…” he started slowly, suddenly finding it hard to actually ask her if she wanted to pursue something more than just being neighborly fuck buddies.

Tilting her head to the side, she grinned at him through her long lashes, “Wondering what?”

Swallowing hard, Sandor decided to take the proverbial bull by the horns, “I was wondering now that you and I have…well, moved beyond being just neighbors and all, what are your expectations of me?”

Sansa’s grin morphed into a toothy smile.  She absolutely adored the way Sandor seemed all nervous and hesitant to come out and ask her if she wanted him.  The man might be close to seven-feet tall and have arms the size of her waist, but on the inside, Sandor was still a gentle, insecure person who wanted nothing more than to be loved.

And damn her if she didn’t know just the woman to give that a go.

“My expectations…” Sansa spoke softly, reaching up to brush aside some of her ginger locks that were aggravating her at present.

“Because I don’t want to assume anything,” Sandor continued, his gray eyes lowering to the now empty plate of food before him.  “Whatever you decide, Sansa, I’ll abide by your wishes.”

“Sandor, look at me, _please,_ ” she all but whispered, reaching across the table, placing her dainty hand on top of his.  Turning his palm upward, threading his fingers with hers, Sandor met her loving gaze.  “I have had the best time with you.  You’re amazing.”  When Sandor sniffed at her comment, she squeezed his hand as tight as she could.  “I’m serious!  I want to be with you, Sandor.  For real.  Not only because of, _you know,_ but seriously, because of everything.  So, I guess that I really just have one expectation.”

“Just one?” Sandor snorted, enjoying the way her plump pink mouth quirked into a devious grin.

“Yeah, just one.”

“Well, what is it, then?”

“I expect you to be my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend?” Sandor replied in a whoosh of air, unable to hide both the excitement and shock that overtook his entire scarred visage.

“Yeah.  My boyfriend,” Sansa chuckled lightly, glancing down at their joined hands before returning her stare, “If you want me, that is.”

“Oh, I want you, alright,” Sandor rasped as he stood, gently encouraging Sansa to rise to her feet, tugging her slightly to him and wrapping his arms around her waist as she placed her hands on his broad shoulders.  “But…are you sure, Sansa?  Are you absolutely sure that -”

“I’m sure,” Sansa interrupted as she wove one hand into Sandor’s tousled black hair, enjoying the way Sandor’s eyes reflected that he understood her intent as she repeated her actions from when they first embraced outside the art museum, “Now shut up and kiss me.  Again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the next chapter, ladies and gentlemen, as Sansa boldly returns to Masters of Coin to collect her personal belongings. What do you think will happen when she shows up at the office? And whom do you think she will take with her as back-up?
> 
> And please, don’t forget to leave a comment if you liked it!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Monday morning has arrived, Sansa and Sandor really don't want to get out of bed. Like, they _really_ don't want to get out of bed. When Sansa agrees to let Sandor tag along with her when she faces Petyr at Masters of Coin to turn in her resignation, the determined redhead decides last-minute that she must confront her boss on her own. And man, oh man, what a confrontation it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps Petyr will rethink his approach to redheads in the future. Just saying...

Thanks to the first flickers of love, both Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane realized that being in love can give a person a crazy kind of brave.

First, when the annoying alarm suddenly shouted at Sansa, the sleepy yet sated redhead groaned in frustration.  She so did _not_ want to get out of bed yet.  With eyes still screwed shut tightly, Sansa whacked the screaming clock, desperately smashing the snooze button, missing at first but finally managing to shut it off on the third try.

Thankfully, the alarm had not woken Sandor.

Smiling to herself as the realization that her new-found lover was snuggled firmly against her naked form, Sansa inhaled and exhaled slowly.  Sandor had his knee shoved in between both of hers, his long arm tucked tightly around her waist.  Against his massive chest she was pressed, sweetly yet possessively clutched as if he truly thought that she might vanish in the middle of the night.

Like that would ever happen.

Barely lifting her wild tangle of bedhead, she quickly glanced at the time.  Ugh.  She really shouldn’t have stayed up so late last night making sure that her newly-acquired boyfriend fell asleep knowing how much she adored him.  Now that morning had arrived, Sansa was due to hop out of bed and to start her morning routine before heading to Masters of Coin.  All she felt like doing today, however, was curling back into the warmth of Sandor’s body, reveling in the pleasing comfort of his warm embrace as they lay together in a jumbled tangle of both smooth and hairy legs.

Sansa _really_ didn’t want to get up to go to work.

And when the muffled sounds of Stranger’s snoring began to trickle into Sansa’s consciousness, she suddenly remembered one key fact about this soon-to-be sweltering Monday here in King’s Landing.

As of today, Sansa was (most likely) unemployed.

And that meant, she really didn’t need to be in a hurry to get out of bed after all.

Well, not until Sandor had to get up and get ready for work at his veterinary clinic, but since the humungous dog doc had told her last night that Noble Hound opened at nine today, surely Sandor need not be in a rush to get back to his apartment, right?

Smiling widely as she nestled back into her spot against Sandor’s bare chest, Sansa grinned slightly at the sensation of his stiffy that was bidding good morning to her naked bottom.  The perpetually perky redhead, who was feeling a tad sore in her woman’s place after their three glorious rounds of love making yesterday, decided that life was too short to worry about a little tenderness in her nether region.  Scooting backward to wiggle her butt firmly against Sandor’s already-alert crotch, she had to gnaw her lip to contain the giggle that dared to escape her mouth upon hearing the feral sound that emanated from deep within Sandor’s throat.

“Good morning,” Sansa whispered into the dimly lit bedroom, angling her neck slightly so Sandor could obtain full access to her pale neck.

“Morning to you,” Sandor mumbled in between soft nips, the sleep still thick in his gravelly voice as his hand began to wander along the expanse of her unclothed skin.  Damn him if this still didn’t feel like one hell of a magnificent dream.  Sliding his palm along her curves, tracing the outline of her hip then her bare thighs, Sandor wished to both to all the gods known and unknown that he did _not_ have to get out of her bed.

Well, Sandor actually _did_ want to get up at the moment, to be perfectly honest.  He was not sure exactly when he and Sansa had finally fallen asleep, but sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Sansa had managed to scoot him so far back that his ass was hanging off the edge of her too-small bed, his butt cheeks nicely chilled like a fine chardonnay since Sansa had somehow managed to steal almost every scrap of accessible bedding from him.

Sandor also needed to get up to stretch.  Fuck, he was stiff.  And not just his manhood, which at present was pointing directly to the object of its desire with a fair amount of gusto to be so damned early in the morning.  No, it was because his feet were numb, thanks to his enormous mastiff, who had decided to sleep on top of Sandor’s lower extremities while perched on the foot of the bed.  Oh, and Sandor also wanted to remove the all-white fluffy ball of fur currently pretending to be a personal heater nestled in its comfy spot right behind Sandor’s back.

However, when a man wakes up nuzzling an ethereal beauty, he will suffer a few inconveniences to enjoy such a delicious moment.

“When do you have to go?” Sansa murmured with a slight groan when Sandor’s hand travelled over her hip and toward her core, grazing her auburn curls as he continued to place tiny bites along her shoulder.

“Never,” Sandor grinned against her shoulder, parting her nether lips and brushing his finger against the inside of her dampened folds.

“But you have to go to work,” Sansa insisted meekly, not really wanting him to stop caressing her most intimate of places.  “Both of us can’t lose our jobs in twenty-four hours.”  With that comment, however, she hiked her leg up and over his own, giving Sandor and all-access pass to her awaiting cunny.

Chuckling at her pretend dismissal of his attentions, Sandor kissed his way back up her neck, nibbling on her earlobe as she reached behind her to card her hand through his messy long hair.  “I’m the boss, remember,” he teased her, “And I don’t plan on firing myself.”  When Sandor attempted to reposition himself to roll Sansa onto her back, his actions were blocked by the 200 pounds of pooch halting Sandor’s movement.  “You two; off!  Go on, move it!” Sandor sassed, vigorously shaking his legs while pushing backward, encouraging the dogs, not ungently, to give him some much-needed space.

Suddenly startled from sleep, Lady gruffled in surprise, her fluffy white head popping up just in time to catch herself before sliding to the floor.  Irritated by his master’s lack of decency in kicking an old dog to the curb, Stranger grumbled and snorted sharply at being shooed off the bed, hopping off and flopping onto his side on the floor.  Stranger yawned widely as he stretched out all four black legs, perfectly content to catch a bit more sleep after partying hard with his new canine companion last night.  And when Lady bounded over to him, plopping herself right next to Stranger’s stomach, he sniffed a soft whisper of approval, letting her know that she was welcome.

Now free to move about as he wished, Sandor rolled Sansa onto her back in one swift movement, smirking down at her as she squealed in surprise.  When he climbed on top of her, he began to kiss his way down her neck, taking a brief detour to pay close attention to her breasts, licking and sucking at her pink nipples until nicely peaked before making his way down the valley of her breasts toward her stomach.

“You want breakfast?” she squeaked when Sandor parted her legs with his hands.

“I’m starving,” he challenged darkly, lowering his head toward her lady bits.

“I could make you eggs…or…I have frozen waffles…oh, God…” Sansa gurgled, her ability to maintain any semblance of a coherent thought evaporating the moment Sandor’s talented mouth found its way to the top of her mound.

“Might just have you for breakfast,” Sandor rasped, enjoying how Sansa’s hands went straight for his head when his nose grazed her folds.  Wincing slightly from the not-so-gentle tug upon his hair, he proceeded to delve right into the feast laid before him.

“Ungh…oh…gah, right…holy…” Sansa continued onward in her state of rising euphoria, wiggling and writhing as Sandor’s tongue found brand-new ways to encourage her orgasm to overtake her in record-speed.  Before she knew what hit her, Sansa was gasping for air, her lover’s name barely escaping her mouth right before her breathing ceased momentarily.  Not content to bring her to completion, Sandor continued to offer his attentions while she floated downward from her glorious high.  Even though she felt utterly sated and just-this-side of boneless, Sansa still managed to gather enough energy to swat at the top of Sandor’s head when he chuckled that smug-as-hell little chuckle of his.

“Pleased, are we?” Sandor laughed even harder in between kisses along the inside of her thigh.

“You have _no_ idea,” Sansa giggled slightly in return, smiling wickedly at Sandor as he crawled over her and caged her in with his arms.  Although Sansa assumed that he was going to take his turn, he simply stared into her face for a few seconds before lowering his head to place a sweet, gentle kiss on the tip of her nose.  With that tender act, Sandor moved as if he was about to climb out of bed.

“Wait!” Sansa cried out in confusion, grasping his forearm to halt him in place, “Don’t you want to…you know…I mean, don’t you need to…”

“Need what?” Sandor smirked, his dark eyebrow locked and loaded in challenge.

Rolling her eyes yet cracking a smile of her own, Sansa answered plainly this time, “Need a little TLC yourself?”

Silent for a moment before speaking, Sandor’s silver eyes narrowed as he spoke.  “I don’t expect a return on my investment every time I make a deposit.”

“A deposit, eh?” Sansa snorted in amusement.

Lifting his chin in the air, Sandor tried to hold back his merriment by biting his lip before answering her.  “That’s right.”

“Too bad for you that I’m calling in your debt,” she snarked saucily.  Without giving Sandor any warning, she used her years spent in martial arts to her advantage.  Jerking him toward her by his arm, Sansa flawlessly pulled a jiu jitsu move that had him flat on his back so fast, Sandor barely had time to yelp before she was sitting upright smack-dab on top of his naked lap.

“Bloody _hell_ , woman,” Sandor belly laughed uncontrollably, his voice raising in pitch slightly as he stared up in awe at Sansa, his hands automatically holding on to her narrow waist.  “How in the fuck did you learn to do that?”

“Years of training,” Sansa replied nonchalantly as she raked her well-manicured nails through his chest hair, running her tongue along her lower lip as her mischievous blue eyes peered down toward his highly-alert manhood.  Scooting down his thighs, she shot him a devious little wink before lowering her mouth to engulf him in both her hand and her mouth in one swift motion.

As Sansa’s highly skilled tongue traced the thick vein on the underside of his swollen cock, Sandor almost wondered aloud how in the seven hells this magnificent, sensual, and apparently lethal woman decided that he should be the one with whom she shared her talents.  Before he could ask, though, Sandor’s ability to have a lucid thought ended abruptly when the eager little bird dove in with such ferocity, he was quite certain that he heard fireworks go off inside Sansa’s bedroom.

 

_______________________________

 

While Sansa was flitting about the kitchen, Sandor had once again volunteered to take Lady and Stranger for a walk.  Wearing the Iron Man t-shirt that she had commandeered the night before while in his bedroom, she grinned like an idiot as she prepared their breakfast.  In just one weekend, Sandor had gone from mystery neighbor to newly-acquired boyfriend.  She still couldn’t believe how quickly things between the two of them had changed.  Not that she was complaining, obviously.  No way.

Scrambling some eggs to make Sandor an omelet, Sansa was giddy with delight.  This whole dynamic suited her, really.  She loved waking up in Sandor’s arms this morning.  It felt amazing, actually.  And then the sex…well, come to think of it, all of their physical explorations had felt amazing, too.  Sansa also liked to dote on him like this as well.  She felt so completely domesticated, standing there in his clothes, making him breakfast before work, waiting for him to come home…

Home?  Hmm.  Maybe Sansa was jumping the gun a tad here, especially since they had just begun their tentative relationship as of, what, last night?  Of course, getting ahead of herself was Sansa’s forte.  Just like her martial arts and typing skills, she was a master.  But then again, why shouldn’t she get a little ahead of herself?  Sandor surely seemed interested in pursing this thing between the two of them.  “Things” might be moving along at the speed of light, but man, oh man, were things wonderful.

Just as Sansa was finishing Sandor’s meal, Sandor walked inside the apartment with two hungry pooches.

“Hey,” Sandor called out sweetly to Sansa as he shut her front door, squatting down to unleash Lady.  “I have to run this old guy home for breakfast before he starts eating your sofa.”

“OK,” Sansa laughed as Lady dashed into the kitchen and danced about on her hind legs in hopes of making her bowl fill with kibble, “Hurry back, though.  Cold eggs aren’t that tasty.”

“Yes, my lady,” Sandor snorted in amusement as he opened Sansa’s door again as he escorted Stranger into the hallway.  “I’ll be right back, I promise,” he added, closing the door behind him.

Sansa, who was still standing at the stove, looked at him over her shoulder just as Sandor was about to vanish from sight.  “I like a man who keeps his promises.”  And with that comment, she blew Sandor several air-kisses.

“Bloody minx,” Sandor all but whispered, his mouth quirking at the corners when Sansa giggled at his response as he shut the door.

 

_______________________________

 

Without further ado, the uncommonly tall dog doc dashed across the hall, unlocking his door and bolting inside right along with his canine companion.  After unleashing Stranger, Sandor hurried into kitchen, measuring his aging dog’s breakfast into the enormous silver pet dish situated on the kitchen floor.  Sandor sighed deeply as Stranger dove head-first into his bowl, patting his buddy’s back while kneeling beside his hungry dog.

“Daddy’s in love, buddy,” Sandor smiled widely while Stranger ignored his master, too busy horking down the carefully portioned ration of prescription-only kibble.  Rising to his feet, Sandor leaned against the counter, glancing at the clock on his microwave as he relived the glory of waking up next to Sansa.  Although he was typically an early riser, Sandor’s mouth quirked at the corners.  If he didn’t have to go into the clinic today, he never would have let Sansa out of her own bed.  He had relentlessly licked and sucked that delicious little bud of hers until she was a sweaty, white-hot mess, moaning and panting while clutching his head so fucking hard, Sandor could have sworn she drew blood.  Sandor was quite confident that the sounds of Sansa’s blissed-out state, her desperate gasps of air and cries of pleasure as she peaked, were the sweetest sounds there was.

Late last night right before sleep overtook him, Sandor had asked Sansa about her plans regarding her employer come morning, and now that morning was here, Sandor was less than pleased with her tentative course of action.  Although logically he understood that Sansa was a grown-ass woman who was quite capable of handling her own affairs, Sandor felt a gnawing sensation in his gut.  He didn’t trust that slimy bastard of a boss of hers as far as Sandor could through the little fucker.  Sansa, who planned to turn in her resignation so she could give Petyr two-weeks’ notice, really should never set foot in that ass-munch’s place of business.  “Proper protocol,” Sansa had called it.

Ah, proper protocol be damned.  Petyr Baelish was the type of man who would not be satisfied with firing Sansa.  No, that manipulative cunt was just the kind of vindictive viper who would pretend that nothing was amiss and that nothing had changed in the dynamic between he and Sansa, all the while working behind the scenes to attempt to blacklist Sansa from finding future employment here in King’s Landing.

Just imagining that sorry son-of-a-bitch playing nice with Sansa, wooing her to stay put with Master of Coin just long enough to give the bugger time to destroy her…hell, no.  Sandor would chew his own leg off before he allowed Petyr Fucking Baelish to win this time.

Knowing full-well that Sansa was waiting for him in her apartment, Sandor decided on the spot that he needed to act quickly.  He jerked his cell phone out of the pocket of his black athletic pants, quickly scrolling through his contacts, mashing the “call” button to rouse his perpetually clueless employee.

“Yeah?” a young man’s sleepy voice groaned into the phone.

“It’s almost seven,” Sandor huffed, inwardly pleased that Podrick had not bothered to check his caller ID before answering his cell phone.  “Are you always this lazy on a work day?”

“Dr. Clegane!” Podrick coughed and sputtered.  “No, no…I didn’t…crap, my alarm didn’t…I’m so glad you called me!  How did you know?” the harried young man gasped in amazement.

Running his hand through his messy shoulder-length hair, Sandor shook his head in disbelief at the irony of the situation.  Had he not called, Podrick would have overslept and have arrived late to the clinic, the very thing that Sandor did _not_ need today.  “Look, I need you to get out of bed right now,” Sandor continued, ignoring Podrick’s question as Sandor paced about his kitchen as he talked.  “I have an enormous favor to ask of you.”

“Are you in jail?” Podrick whispered into the phone.

“And why was that your first thought?” Sandor sighed deeply in a whoosh of air.

Not a peep came from the other end of the line.

“Podrick?” Sandor asked.  “You still there?”

“Yes, of course,” his employee answered quickly.  Sandor could almost see Podrick’s head bobbing furiously in agreement.

“I need you to get off your ass and into the clinic early,” Sandor continued.  “I will be a bit late this morning, so you will have to open.”

“What?” the young man on the other end of the phone wondered, the total confusion obvious in his voice.  “You want me…to open the clinic?”

“Yes, you,” Sandor sighed once again, praying to all the gods both known and unknown that Podrick would be able to handle this much responsibility.  “Ray won’t be there.  I can’t be there.  You’re the only other person who knows where the spare key is hidden.  So, get up and get moving!”

“Right!  Sure thing, boss!” Podrick said, “But wait – what about the patients?  What do I tell them?  And the temp?  Aren’t we supposed to train a new temp today since Shae -”

Sandor’s stomach clenched just hearing the she-devil’s name.  “I purposefully did _not_ schedule anyone until nine since I knew today would be crazy.  Just get over there, open up the place, and just tell the temp to do nothing but answer the damn phone until I get there.  Can you do that?  Is that too much to handle?”

“No!” Podrick answered, the veterinary student intern’s voice full of both shock and awe that his employer finally entrusted him with more than general duties at Noble Hound, “I’m all over it!  I’ll be at the clinic in thirty minutes!”

“Good man,” Sandor replied tersely, “I’ll be in around nine.  See that you don’t burn the place down, yeah?”

“Yes, sir!” Podrick all but saluted.

“Not a ‘sir,’ remember?” Sandor cautioned with a groan.

“Oh, right!” Podrick chuckled nervously, “I mean, yes, Dr. Clegane!”

Before Sandor could end the conversation and head back to Sansa’s place, Podrick asked one final question.

“Are you sure you don’t need bail money?” the curious vet student inquired, “Because if you do, my cousin, Ilyn, he’s a bail bondsman, so I could -”

“Hanging up now,” Sandor growled, tapping the “end” button right before shoving his cell phone into his pants pocket.  If it weren’t for Sansa, there was no way in hell that Sandor would ever think that this was a good idea.  But for her…well, a man will do things he never dreamed of doing, right?

Being in love sure can make a person a crazy kind of brave.

 

_______________________________

 

Over the course of their breakfast, Sandor argued his case like a highly-skilled courtroom litigator, using his finely-honed logic skills to convince Sansa to allow him to accompany her to her place of employment.  Even though Sansa pretended to have to think about letting him go with her, she knew the minute that Sandor broached the subject that she would readily agree to Sandor’s request.  The idea that her new boyfriend was so worried about her well-being, she thought the whole thing was downright endearing, frankly.  He not only wanted to make sure that Petyr didn’t try anything funny when Sansa turned in her resignation today, but also Sandor had voluntarily juggled his work schedule to make sure it happened.  By the time that breakfast was finished, she simply couldn’t resist the chance to kiss him senseless when Sandor offered to clear the table and do the dishes while she jumped into the shower.  Where in the hell had this man been all of her life, anyway?

Though there was no doubt in Sansa’s mind that Sandor had her best interests at heart, she was smart enough to recognize the potential chaos which could erupt if Sandor was allowed anywhere near Petyr.  While driving to Masters of Coin, Sansa decided that when it came time for her to actually confront Petyr face-to-face and to turn in her resignation, Sansa had to have Sandor’s best interests at heart as well.

“You stay out here,” Sansa insisted, still seated on the passenger side of Sandor’s Suburban out in the parking lot of Masters of Coin.  “I promise that I won’t be long.”

“But what if he - ” Sandor began, cut off at the pass by Sansa when she held up her hand to silence him.

“I _love_ it that you wanted to come here with me today,” she interrupted, her lips quirking at the corners.  “Really, I do. And I know how badly that you want to support me and to protect me, but I’ll be fine.”

Sandor grunted his disagreement, but he did not protest further.

Smiling at the massive man’s little-boy pout, Sansa leaned across the console to plant a quick kiss on his cheek.  “If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, _then_ you can come looking for me, OK?”

“Fine,” Sandor huffed, shooting her a sideways glance as she grabbed her purse and resignation.  “I’ll just sit out here, marinating in my worry.  But if that motherfucker tries anything, I swear I’ll - ”

Without uttering a word, Sansa merely raised a ginger brow at him.

“Right.  Sit and wait,” Sandor sighed heavily, slouching even impossibly further into his car seat.  “Got it.”

As Sansa smirked, she shoved her way out of Sandor’s truck, throwing her black handbag over shoulder as she click-clacked her way toward the accounting firm in which she had worked for the last nine months.  Glancing at her watch, she knew that the staff of Masters of Coin should already be scurrying about the office, doing their best to please Petyr and play right along with his sense of superiority.  Although Sansa did _not_ relish the idea of confronting her boss, at least she would do it in the presence of witnesses.

How rapidly Sansa’s worldview had changed this weekend.  Now instead of making excuses for her boss or trying to see the good in him, she understood Petyr for who he really was.  All Sansa wanted to do right now was to tender her resignation and to tell him exactly what she thought of him should Petyr dare to cross the line of workplace decorum with her once again.

Sansa felt empowered.  She felt bold.  Brave like she hadn’t felt in ages.  And it was all thanks to one certain grumpy veterinarian nestled in his black truck just a few feet away from her.

When her security badge was accepted by the badge reader at the front door, Sansa was actually surprised that Petyr had not made it a point to terminate her access code first-thing upon arriving at the office today.  Just as she entered the reception area where Kayla was perched, Sansa took a deep breath, bracing herself for the inevitable.

“Hey, Kayla,” Sansa smiled as sincerely as possible at the visibly startled young woman.

“Oh.  My.  God!” Kayla gushed, her eyes blown wide in astonishment.  “You actually came in today!”

“Is Petyr available?” Sansa ignored, refusing to acknowledge Kayla’s comment.

“Uh, yeah, sure…let me get him for you,” Kayla quickly spoke, grabbing the receiver and hurriedly dialing Petyr’s extension.

Before Kayla could call him, Petyr appeared seemingly out of nowhere, standing in the doorway leading to the offices from the reception area.

“Why, good morning, Sansa,” he smiled fakely, blinking rapidly in that annoying way he always did when acting casual.  “What a pleasant surprise.”

“May I talk to you for a minute, Petyr?” Sansa continued, undaunted by the sinister smirk of self-assurance that suddenly scrolled across the smug man’s face.  “I’d like to speak with you in private.”

“Certainly,” Petyr bowed slightly, never taking his beady blue eyes off Sansa while he extended his arm toward the hallway leading to his office.  “Hold my calls, Kayla,” he commanded tersely as he rose to his full height, wetting his lips as he stared hard at Sansa.  “The young lady and I do not wish to be disturbed, now do we?”

Swallowing harder than she probably should, Sansa felt a twinge of discomfort tingle up her spine.  Thanks to her weekend with Sandor, her whole world-view when it came to Petyr had shifted dramatically.  She could no longer look at Petyr without seeing him for who he truly was.  He was a creepy perv, plain and simple.

So, putting forth her fakest smile, Sansa gave a slight nod in Petyr’s direction while walking quickly to his office.  As she entered his office, moving to take a seat in his visitor’s chair, Petyr closed the door, stalking slowly around his desk while motioning for her to be seated, all the while staring at her so intently that the hairs on the back of her arms prickled.  Something in the way that he was looking at her made Sansa feel like his prey.

Maybe she should have let Sandor come inside with her after all.

“We missed you at the art gala,” Petyr began, his thick mustache raising with his impish grin, “How unfortunate it was that you had to leave so suddenly.”

“Look, Petyr,” Sansa sighed, opting to just rip the proverbial band-aid off and lead the charge, “About that…I’d like to turn in - ”

“And how _is_ Sanderson, by the way?” Petyr interrupted her as he casually draped himself in his plush, uber-expensive leather executive chair.

Sansa’s tongue involuntarily ran across her top teeth as she tried to reign in her mounting frustration.  “It’s Sandor.  His name is Sandor.”

“Silly me,” her boss chuckled darkly, obviously amused that he had misspoken her alleged boyfriend’s name on purpose.  “What a delightful man your _boyfriend_ is.  A true gem.  Please be sure to give him my regards when you see him again.”

Refusing to let her slimy, sneaky employer rattle her cage any longer than absolutely necessary, Sansa changed her mind about taking the high road today with Petyr.  She may have told Sandor that she had planned to work out a notice, but sitting here in Petyr’s presence, she was most assuredly scrapping that notion.  There was no way that she could work one more minute for this man.

“Petyr, let me get straight to the point.  I am turning in my resignation, effective _immediately_ ,” she stated bluntly, not bothering to mince words.  Quickly laying her file folder with her letter of resignation enclosed, Sansa folded her hands primly on her pencil-skirted lap while waiting for Petyr’s response. 

“No notice?” Petyr mock-wondered, flipping the file folder open with his fingers.  Unhurriedly removing the document, his barely scanned it before he tossed it onto the top of his desk.  “How utterly unprofessional of you, Sansa,” Petyr tutted with this tongue, “I should expect more from my favorite employee.”

“Forgive me, Petyr, but I thought it best under the circumstances,” Sansa countered, clearing her throat and sitting straight as a rod in her seat.  Jesus, the man could make her bristle.  And why in the hell did she just apologize?

Scrap that.  She was glad she hadn’t let Sandor come inside with her.

“Circumstances?” Petyr replied, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her thoroughly.  “Whatever do you mean?”

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek at that comment.  “Last night…you and Sandor…” she fumbled, motioning with her hands.  Her voice trailed off in irritation that he was actually playing dumb about the whole fiasco.

“Come, come now, Sansa,” Petyr chuckled lightly, waving his hand in dismissal, “Do you really think I’d let you go over something so pitiful as your boyfriend’s little outburst?”

Oh, boy.  This was getting ridiculous.  Did Petyr _really_ think that she’d want to hang around at Masters of Coin after Sandor finished singing his swan-song last night at the museum?

“Petyr, please,” Sansa sighed, smoothing out an imagined wrinkle on the surface of her skirt, “This is the way it has to be.  You and I both know that.”

The silence that suddenly descended upon employer and employee was so thick, Sansa was certain that she could reach up and grab a piece of it in her hand.  Saying nothing at all, Petyr just stared at her like she’d sprouted wings.  After what felt like days, he finally spoke.

“Although I would love to see you remain here at Masters of Coin,” Petyr responded, the overly pleasant tone in his voice not quite matching the slightly sinister sneer on his face, “I would never dream of asking you to stay if you do not wish to do so.”  Rising to his feet abruptly, Petyr added, “You may clean out your desk before you leave.  Just be sure to hand Kayla your badge on your way out of the office, if you would be so kind.”

Sansa was floored.  No snark?  No harsh words?  No more comments about Sandor?

Could it really be that easy?

“Thank you for understanding, Petyr,” Sansa gushed as she speedily rose to her own feet.  “I will be out of here and out of your hair shortly!”  Giddy with delight, she raced to the office door, hand poised on the knob as she smelled freedom floating in the air.  However, before she could even crack it open, her now-former boss’s parting shot froze her in her tracks.

“I do hope that you know what you’re doing, Sansa,” Petyr warned, an outwardly curious yet inwardly knowledgeable tone dripping from his voice.  “I’d hate to see you make a terrible, terrible mistake.”

In her gut, Sansa knew that she should just leave.  She should ignore Petyr and should walk right out the door and not look back.  She should haul her ass to her desk, grab her few personal effects, and run like hell to Sandor.

But she didn’t.

“A mistake?” Sansa asked, releasing the doorknob and turning to face Petyr again.

“By chance, did your beloved boyfriend tell you that he has an older brother who is in prison?” Petyr asked nonchalantly, slowly walking around the corner of his desk.  “Apparently, his brother is quite the villain.  Drugs.  Guns.  Sundry violent crimes against humanity.”

Sansa’s heart thudded viciously in her chest as Petyr’s question seeped into her consciousness.  Granted, she had barely had the opportunity to delve into Sandor’s background, seeing how they had literally jumped from neighbors to lovers in a weekend.  With her mind racing at lightning speed, she spun her conversations with Sandor over the last few days like a CD, pausing here and there as she tried to extract any details that he may have mentioned about an older brother.

She was coming up dry.

Pleased that Sansa’s departure was halted, Petyr continued his diatribe as he slithered toward her.  “Hmm, I suppose he must have forgotten to mention any of that to you, especially since you’ve only been together…what was it he said last night?  Two months now?”

Unable to think rationally at the moment, Sansa mutely stared at Petyr as he approached her, so plainly pleased with himself at present.  Closer and closer he stalked forward, his thin lips pulled back almost as if he were bearing his professionally whitened teeth like a predator about to strike.

“How could…how could you find out something like that so quickly?” Sansa blinked furiously, the wheels barely churning in her addled brain.

“I have my sources,” Petyr smirked at her, almost in her personal space now.

“But why?” Sansa gaped, confused on so many levels, “Why do that?  Why would you dig into Sandor’s background like that?”

“You know, sometimes when I try to understand a person’s motives, I play a little game,” Petyr all but whispered, his eyes scissoring across Sansa’s perplexed visage as he stood directly in front of her.  “I assume the worst.”  Tilting his head to the side, he smiled at her as he continued.  “You think you know him, but the truth is, you don’t.  You know nothing about that man.  And he’s keeping secrets from you, too.  That much is obvious.”

Sansa was having an out of body experience.  She could almost look down on herself as Petyr’s thin, cold hand cupped her shoulder.  “I care about you, Sansa,” he rasped, angling his head while barely leaning toward her, “Just like I cared about your mother.  That’s why I made some inquiries about dear old Dr. Clegane.”

Petyr’s mouth drew closer and closer, his hand sliding up her shoulder to cup her cheek.  “Your mother was the most beautiful woman in all of Eyrieville…” he rasped hoarsely as his eyes began to flutter closed.

Sansa wanted to scream.  She wanted to run.  Yet she couldn’t move.  She was immobilized.

Until she heard a familiar voice that snapped her back into reality, that is.

“Get out of my way,” Sandor’s voice boomed thunderously.

“You can’t go back there!” Sansa heard Kayla shouting from the reception area along with several other muffled voices murmuring off in the distance.

“The hell I can’t!” Sandor shouted in reply, the stomping of his giant feet echoing down the hallway as he made his way to Petyr’s office.

_Sandor…_

Snapped out of her trance, Sansa moved like a ninja spy assassin, grabbing Petyr’s hand off her face with both of hers.  In one fantastic flurry of movement, she abruptly rotated Petyr’s arm such that his elbow was facing upward and his wrist was bent backward.  Howling in pain and surprise, Petyr screeched in agony as Sansa held him bent over and locked snugly in place.

“Sansa!” Sandor called out when he slammed open Petyr’s office door.  The scene before him took his breath away.  There was his beautiful little bird, outwardly so delicate and trusting of others, yet inwardly as fierce as any wild wolf dared to be.  “What in…the…”

“You want you know everyone’s secrets, do you?” Sansa seethed through gritted teeth at Petyr, who helplessly fell to his knees to lessen the pressure on his joints.  “Well, here’s a doozy for you.  My mother never mentioned you until I got this job.  Not once.  In fact, she barely remembered you from high school when I brought up your name.  So, do me a favor.  Don’t waste your time caring about either of us.”

“I made a mistake!” Petyr begged, his face contorting with pain as Sansa added a little extra tweak on his wrist.  “I thought - ”

“Don’t,” Sansa hissed in return, not caring that everyone in the entire office as well as her newly-acquired boyfriend were watching the entire scene go down, “Just.  Don’t.”

“Maybe we should…” Sandor hesitated, now flanked by several of Sansa’s former coworkers all shoved and stuffed together as they jockeyed for the best position to watch her handle Petyr like a ragdoll.

“You’re pathetic,” Sansa huffed at Petyr while ignoring Sandor temporarily, finally letting go and dropping him to the office floor with a heinous thud.  “Don’t talk to me about the people I love ever again.”  With her vow still hanging in the air, she quickly looked up into Sandor’s face, gritting her teeth yet trying to ratchet down her anger.  “Let’s get out of here,” she demanded, holding out her hand toward Sandor.

“Seven hells,” Sandor gruffed as he allowed Sansa to pull him along behind her, not unlike she had manhandled him at the art gala, “You’re bloody amazing.  Have I told you that?”

“Tell me later,” Sansa replied, actually smiling slightly with her dainty yet powerful hand around his forearm, tugging Sandor along as she marched the two of them right out the main door of Masters of Coin, not stopping until she had placed him smack-dab beside his truck.  As she twirled around like a prima ballerina, Sansa lifted herself onto her tiptoes, searing Sandor’s lips with a fiery, passionate kiss.

Sansa wasn’t going to let Petyr win.  He wanted to mess with her mind, just like he always did.  She might now know everything about Sandor yet, but one day she would.  Sandor may have skeletons in his family closet, but so what?  Who the hell doesn’t?

When Sandor pulled back slowly, his breaths short and rapid, he couldn’t help the sappy look of approval that overtook his scarred face.  He was completely in awe of his dazzling, strong girlfriend.  “I’ll never, _ever_ , doubt your ability to handle yourself again, love.”

“And I’ll never doubt you, either,” Sansa promised, gazing seriously at Sandor as he opened the truck door for her to climb inside.

“But your things…” Sandor began, looking over his broad shoulder at the accounting firm from which they had just escaped.  “Are you just going to leave them in there?”

“Petyr can shove it you-know-where,” she smirked defiantly, enjoying the bark of laughter coming from Sandor.  Climbing into her seat, she paused mid-stream as she turned. “So…I was thinking…”

“I love it when you think,” Sandor rasped, gnawing his bottom lip while leaning on the open truck door.

“I’d like to see your clinic,” Sansa demurred, glancing down at the ground below her before meeting Sandor’s raised eyebrow.  “I mean, that is, if you don’t mind me coming along to hang out with you, seeing how I don’t really have any where else to be today.”

Lowering his head suddenly to steal a quick kiss, Sandor answered as he rose to his full, impressive height.  “I’d love nothing more, Sansa.”

And as Sandor shut her door and jogged around the front of the truck, Sansa inhaled and exhaled deeply.

Being in love sure can make a person a crazy kind of brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shall we go see what's happening over at Noble Hound Wellness Center? Surely, Podrick can handle things until Dr. Clegane shows up for work...or can he?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to the vet clinic, Sansa asks Sandor a few questions. Once arrived, Sandor has a terribly rude awakening about how his work day will start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff and silly shenanigans ensue for our happy couple!

For Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane, sometimes the most shocking surprises are often the most beautiful surprises.

First, while driving to the vet clinic, Sandor couldn’t remember a time in his 31 years on the planet that he had been this happy.  Next to him sat the most gorgeous, funny, and surprisingly tough woman on the planet.  And she was his.  Sandor never wanted to imagine his life without her in it.

Sandor’s lips quirked at the corners as he snuck a peek at Sansa, who was bouncing in her seat, snapping her fingers while singing at the top of her lungs along with yet another egregious hair band song from the 80s blasting through the speakers of his radio.  Although he adamantly preferred the oldies, Sandor knew that a man will tolerate all sorts of indignities for the women he loves.

“How do can you possibly know all of the words?” he chuckled when Sansa scrunched her face into a knot, trying to replicate the screeching, high-pitch note that the lead singer just hit.  “You weren’t even alive when this song was first released.”

Opening her bright blue eyes, Sansa turned her head toward him, her barely flushed face alight with mischief, “This coming from the world’s biggest Elvis fan?”

Snorting at her volley, Sandor laughed at her dig.  “Touché.”

Now that her attention had been diverted from her enrapture with the Guns 'N Roses song on the radio, Sansa sighed a heavy sigh, not because she was upset or depressed, but because she was extraordinarily content.  In her short life span, she had never met a man quite like Sandor Clegane.  Studying him while he drove them to his clinic, Sansa wondered how he had gotten those scars on his face.  During their time together over the weekend, she had wanted to ask him directly, but shied away from the question, deciding it best to let Sandor tell her his story in his own time.

As her brain began to put forth a plethora of possibilities as to how Sandor wound up looking like he did, Sansa realized that there was nothing stopping her from actually asking him now.  They had definitely moved forward fast enough in their relationship for her to feel comfortable getting to know him better.  In fact, there really was nothing stopping her from asking Sandor about _anything_ anymore, was there?  Petyr might have tried to drive a wedge between her and her newly acquired boyfriend, but damn him and his skinny butt for trying.  Sansa planned to be honest with Sandor right from the start.  Surely, he would feel the same way.

Might as well find out.

“So, what made you want to be a veterinarian?” she asked casually, grinning at him when his whole face lit up with pleasure.

“Well, I’ve always loved animals,” Sandor began, motioning for her to change the channel now that the God-awful song had ceased and had transitioned to a couple of talking heads.  “Dogs especially.  I blame my father for that.”

“Was he one too?” she wondered, searching for an oldies channel to give him a turn.

“Nah, he was a cop,” Sandor answered, feverishly pointing to the radio to get her to pause right there.

“Really?” Sansa gaped in amazement.  “A police officer?”

“Yeah, my dad trained police dogs,” Sandor continued, his long fingers drumming on the steering wheel while Roy Orbison crooned.  “You know, like those drug sniffing dogs or bomb sniffing dogs.”

“Wow, that’s so cool!” she added in delight.  “So, is that what your dad did once you immigrated here?”

“He did.  After we moved here, my father found a job as the kennel master for the King’s Landing PD.  He trained all of their dogs that went into the field.”  For a brief moment, Sandor’s memories of laughing and playing with the retired police dog that his father had brought home for a family pet overtook him.  Bloody hell, Sandor had loved that old German Shepherd.

“So…” Sansa began tentatively, wondering how far she could take her questions this morning.  She really wanted to ask him about the mystery older brother, but damn her if it just didn’t feel right to jump directly into such a line of inquiry.  “Is your father retired now?”

“He’s dead,” Sandor answered succinctly.  Clearing his throat, he added, “He died when I was still a boy.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she apologized, wishing she could smack herself for being so incredibly nosy, “I shouldn’t have - ”

“Don’t apologize for anything,” he countered, glancing her direction while turning down the road leading to the clinic.  “You’re free to ask me anything you want to know about me.  I have no secrets, love.”

That comment helped Sansa feel a little better for having brought up something so painful.  When the time was right, she would ask him more questions.  Stupid Petyr.  Gah, even now he had her second-guessing herself when it came to Sandor.  No more.  “OK.  Same here.  I’m an open book, too.  Deal?”

“Deal,” Sandor smiled at her as he lifted one hand off the wheel and pointed toward the approaching building.  “And we have arrived, my lady.”

Turning her head quickly, Sansa grinned with delight.  “So, this is Noble Hound, eh?”

“Aye, that it is,” Sandor nodded, pulling into the parking lot and veering toward the back.  Curiously, he counted six cars in the main area as he approached the employee section in the rear of the building.  Now that was odd…it was barely nine, and his first client wasn't even on the books for almost another hour.

“You know, after I get the grand tour,” Sansa taunted him as he pulled the car into his space, giggling at the “Dr. Clegane” sign delegating the spot as his, “I’ll text my friend, Margaery, to come pick me up and take me back home.  It’s her day off, so I don’t think she’d mind if I asked her -”

“Stay as long as you wish,” Sandor interjected, turning the ignition and jerking out the keys.  “I’m in no rush to be rid of you.”

Arching a copper brow, Sansa wet her lips as her eyes lowered to his mouth for a split second.  “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” he rasped, leaning across the center console, pressing his lips tenderly against hers.

“Well, in that case,” she smiled playfully when he pulled back, “I may never leave, _Dr. Clegane_.”

Growling under his breath as a surge of want pulsed through his veins, Sandor bit his lower lip.  “Say that again,” he commanded.

“What?” Sansa blinked as if she didn’t know what effect she was having on her humungous companion at the moment, “You mean, ‘Dr. Clegane’?”

“The things I want to do to you right now…” Sandor vowed, taking a deep breath, trying to rationalize with his awakening erection, inwardly chastising himself to settle the fuck down before he had to walk into the clinic.

“Later,” Sansa promised with a wink.

Glancing at his silver watch, Sandor exhaled sharply.  “Only eight more hours to go.”

“Well, there’s always your lunch break, you know,” she teased him as she quickly opened the truck door and hopped out before he could get a hold of her.  Standing beside the truck, she relished the feral look of desire that overtook her dog doc.

“I’m going to put that mouth of yours to work if you don’t watch it,” Sandor warned her, not realizing how accurate the prediction would come once they entered the clinic.

“Promises…promises,” Sansa tittered in glee, never once breaking her gaze as Sandor exited his truck and stalked around the rear toward her.  Before she could barely emit a squeak, he was on her, pulling her toward him, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her senseless right there in the employee section of the parking lot.  With her knees like rubber, she gasped for air when he finally broke their lip lock.

“Shall we?” Sandor asked her hoarsely, motioning behind with his head toward the building.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she breathed in a whoosh.

Sandor moved to lead her to the employee entrance.

“Wait,” she paused, halting in her tracks while holding his hand, “Can you take me through the main entrance?”

“I’ll take you however you wish to be taken,” Sandor joked.

“You know what I mean,” she smiled, rolling her eyes with added flair.  “I’d like to go through the main door because I want to get the full effect.”

“By all means,” Sandor bowed, waving her forward with a fair amount of flourish, “Lead the way, my lady.”

 

_______________________________

 

As Sandor pulled open the main door to Noble Hound Animal Wellness Center, he had no idea that the full effect Sansa would receive when entering his clinic would be one of complete and utter pandemonium.

The temp who was supposed to be manning the front desk was nowhere to be found as the phone rang off the hook, all three lines lit up like a Christmas tree.  Five clients sat in the waiting room, tapping their feet while huffing in displeasure at Sandor for his tardiness.  The ear-splitting sounds of various felines squawking in their pet carriers and the low-pitched snuffles of the two canines sniffing one another’s privates greeted the shocked veterinarian as he stepped inside his clinic behind his equally as bumfuzzled girlfriend.

“What…in…the…” Sandor gaped in confusion when an enormous black boxer mix came galloping into the lobby from the hallway leading back to the exam rooms.

“Varys!” the sound of Podrick’s voice echoed in the distance, “Here, boy!”

Refusing to obey, the dog ran directly behind the front desk, attempting to crouch low enough to shove himself under said desk to hide from his imagined assailant.  Immediately, Sandor let go of Sansa’s hand, dashing behind the desk to corner the dog, squatting down, gently coaxing the terrified pooch to come to him.  Just as Sandor began to pet the frightened dog, both Podrick and the dog’s harried owner bolted into the lobby.

“Dr. Clegane!” Podrick panted as his feet ground to a halt.

“Miss Targaryen,” Sandor nodded politely toward the young, short pale blond woman now standing next to his intern whom Sandor deliberately was ignoring for the moment, “I’m surprised to see you here today.”

“I called last week,” she replied, her hands poised on her narrow hips while looking up at Sandor.  “I rescheduled the neutering appointment because my flight schedule for this week changed.”

Rising to his full height, Sandor released the dog to its owner as he tried to process his client’s statement.  “There must be some mistake.  I didn’t have any one scheduled this morning, Miss. Targaryen,” he stated bluntly as always, “That’s impossible.”  Suddenly, Podrick loudly cleared his throat.  With his vet intern’s less than obvious act of shushing him, Sandor quickly turned his attention toward his typically clueless intern.  “Or is it?”

“Uh, well…about that,” Podrick began, reaching up to scratch behind his neck.

“About _what_?” Sandor huffed in mounting irritation, the three phones still ringing together in a jing-jangling cacophony behind him.

“I think before she left…” Podrick bumbled along nervously, swallowing hard as Sandor glared at him like he had sprouted a third eye.

“She?” Sandor asked tersely, “The temp, you mean?  Has she already quit?"

“Actually,” Podrick chuckled in a fretful titter, “She didn’t show up today.  Neither did Dontos or Lancel, by the way.  Lancel quit, and Dontos called in sick.”

Slamming his silver eyes shut tightly, Sandor rubbed his forehead.  Of course, the temp didn’t come into work as arranged with the temp agency last week.  And of course, his two vet techs were no shows today of all days as well.  Bloody hell.

“That explains the lack of a warm body manning the front desk,” Sandor hissed slowly, opening his eyes and staring hard at Podrick, “But that doesn’t explain why all of these people are here,” he continued, wildly waving behind him at the seated clients.  “No one was scheduled until ten today on purpose.  I verified that fact as of Thursday morning, so tell me, Podrick, why are they here?”

“Well…” Podrick stuttered, dancing from one anxious foot to the other.  In the meantime, the seated clients with their pets as well as the petite blonde and Sandor’s redheaded girlfriend watched with baited breath as the scene unfolded.

“Get on with it,” Sandor sighed in a rush of air.

Exhaling while bracing himself for his boss’s inevitable eruption, Podrick answered as fast as he could, not pausing to take a single breath, “I think before she left on Friday, Shae must have forgotten that the clinic wasn’t taking appointments on Monday morning since you and I would be all by ourselves now that Ray is retired, so she probably, accidentally, you know, saw the openings on the calendar and inadvertently scheduled appointments today.”

Blinking rapidly as Podrick’s little litany settled into Sandor’s brain, the enormous veterinarian carefully ran his tongue along the top row of his teeth, simultaneously reaching up to rub his beard with both hands as he tried to ratchet down his ire.  Sandor scrubbed at his face, counting to ten inside his head, desperate to quell the pyroclastic blast of rage that was rumbling just under the surface of his skin.

No luck.

Mount St. Sandor was about to blow.

“I’m going to kill her…” Sandor snarled under his breath, hands still cupping his face as he spoke to himself.  “I’m going to drive to Ray’s condo, kick in the door, and strangle that wretched she-devil with my bare hands.”

“Who’s Shae?” Sansa inquired quietly from where she stood just inside the front door.

Without saying a word, Podrick feverishly mouthed the words “Don’t ask!” while motioning with his hands for Sansa to cease and desist immediately about the bane of Sandor’s existence.

“She’s Lucifer in a dress,” Sandor replied through gritted teeth.

Now stepping beside Sandor and putting her hand on the small of his back as he remained locked in place, his hands still covering his scarred countenance, Sansa decided on the spot that she could help.  Sandor had helped her not so long ago; now was her chance to return the favor.

“I got this,” Sansa smiled up into Sandor’s harried face, beaming at him like nothing could be easier.  “Podrick, right?” she added, turning her attention to the young man who looked like he might be in fear for his life at present.  “Help me log on to the system, and I’ll take it from there.”

Not missing a beat, Sansa twirled on her feet, marching to the front desk, yanking the receiver off the base, pushing line one while donning her silky-smooth administrative assistant voice, “Thank you for calling Noble Hound, where your pet is our priority.  Would you hold, please?”  She repeated the same thing a second and then a third time, togging the phone lines like a gifted master.  Lifting her sky-blue eyes, Sansa smiled at the waiting patrons, thanking them profusely for their patience this morning with the scheduling faux pas, offering each one a bag of free pet food as Dr. Clegane’s way of making things right.  All five clients beamed widely at the offer, nodding and smiling at each other while eagerly accepting Sansa’s proposed apology.

Stupefied by the ease in which Sansa segwayed into her role, Sandor and Podrick stood like statues, mouths hanging open, frozen in space and time as they witnessed Sansa effortlessly navigate all three phone lines.

“Where in the world did you find her?” Podrick finally uttered.

“She’s my neighbor,” Sandor sniffed, his heart swelling with pride.

“Podrick, the computer?” Sansa interrupted, snapping her fingers at the hapless intern then pointing at the monitor.

“Uh, yeah…right,” he mumbled as he darted forward, swirling the mouse while tapping on the keyboard to log on to the system.

“Rough first day on your own, Dr. Clegane?” the petite blond joked while scratching her black boxer mix who had no clue what fate awaited him.

Still openly gawking at Sansa, who caught Sandor’s gaze and shot him a wink in return, he chuckled while shaking his head in agreement.  “You have _no_ idea.”  Turning to face his client, he motioned with a hand toward the hallway.  “Now, Miss Targaryen, shall we?”

And while Sansa juggled the phone lines and Podrick asked the next client who was waiting in line to be seen to follow him to an exam room, Sandor smiled until his bearded cheeks hurt as he led his client and her dog toward the exam room.

Sometimes the most shocking surprises are often the most beautiful surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Sansa at the helm, let's see if Sandor and Podrick can get a handle on driving that bus!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to one little mouse and to one amazing woman, Sandor finally is able to tear down the last pieces of the wall around his heart which he’d once thought impenetrable. And Sansa, who hopes to one day work for Sandor at Noble Hound, inadvertently plays matchmaker for two single people who've been looking for something as special as what she's found with Sandor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, dear readers! I have finally managed to break through the writer's block that has plagued me on my WIPs. So, without further ado, please enjoy this 6K+ word update that follows Sansa and Sandor as they both realize that they have found the perfectly imperfect person.

For Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane, true love did not come by finding the perfect person but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.

First, as Sansa lounged in the charcoal visitor’s chair inside of Sandor’s office, watching him shirk off his lab coat and stethoscope, she couldn’t help but smile while mulling over the whole litany of events that had occurred today.  She’d not only bailed on her boring job at Masters of Coin, but she’d also exited said place of employment in a blaze of glory.  Talk about burning bridges; Sansa had sent hers into orbit with a nuclear war head.  Then, to her surprise and delight, Sandor had allowed her to jump in with both feet here at Noble Hound, permitting her take over the much-needed receptionist duties today without question.  Knowing that he trusted her so much after only a short period of time together made Sansa feel respected and appreciated.

Speaking of respect, Sansa had absolutely fallen in love with Sandor’s intern, Podrick.  He was just too dang cute.  Shy and sweet, Podrick had fawned over her, repeatedly making sure she had everything she needed to manage the front, thanking her countless times for volunteering to help out today.  How she had laughed and laughed when the veterinarian student had illicitly shared some hilarious tales in between clients about how things at the veterinarian clinic typically were on any given day, especially when Shae, Sandor’s self-appointed arch nemesis, had been employed.  And while Sansa had shared a quick take-out lunch with Sandor and Podrick out back at the small picnic table in the shaded area of the parking lot, the artful ways in which Sandor had cursed Shae, or “Satan’s spawn,” as he so dubbed the lady, had Sansa snorting out loud more than once.  Sandor was truly a master when it came to the fine art of cursing.

While Sansa studied the ginormous veterinarian as he ended his work day, she thought about Sandor’s soft smile each time he had come to the front desk to take back another client.  God, how the man could made Sansa’s heart flutter.  She wondered what it might be like to drive into work together _every_ day.  She daydreamed about how nice it would be to wake up together, eat together, carpool into work together, spend the whole day together…

_C’mon, Sansa!  Get real!_

Blinking rapidly as her common sense kicked in, Sansa chastised herself for her highly overactive imagination.  She’d just started dating Sandor, for Pete’s sake.  That was definitely moving _very_ fast, even for Sansa.  Though she was notorious back home for her lack of patience, she needed to cool her jets.  There was no way Sandor would hire her this soon, no matter how terrific her job skills.  Or how terrific her other skill sets might be, either.

“Did I work you too hard today?” Sandor teased her as he sat down at his desk, derailing her train of thought as he fiddled with his laptop.

“No way!” she laughed, enjoying the huge smile dancing across his countenance while he powered down his computer.  “I had a terrific time here!  And I really like Podrick, too.  He’s so cute and funny and sweet.”

“He is, is he?” Sandor snorted at her description.  “You forgot to mention clueless and practically useless during your little litany of praises.”

“Now that’s not true, and you know it,” Sansa countered, her tone playful yet sincere.  “He worked his butt off here today, and he barely even stopped to eat some lunch.  You’re lucky to have him!”

Sandor didn’t say anything.  He simply harumphed at her assessment.

“I’m serious!” she insisted.  “Podrick is wonderful!  He’d make such a terrific addition to your clinic if you were to hire him full-time once he graduates.

“And just how much did he pay you to say that?” Sandor retorted as he leaned back in his black leather executive chair, narrowing his mischievous silver eyes at her.

Sansa rolled her own eyes at Sandor’s stubbornness.  “You know you love him.  You’re just being difficult.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” he taunted her.

Rising to her feet, Sansa couldn’t contain the quirk of her lips as she slowly sauntered toward him, languidly strolling around the corner of his desk while waving toward the framed documents on the wall behind him.  “All those diplomas and awards…and not a one of them mentions your talent when it comes to being a smart ass.”

“It just comes naturally,” he rasped, his throat going dry as he watched her approaching.

“You’re a man of many talents, Dr. Clegane,” she hummed, her voice deep and breathy.

Holy hell.  Never in his career had Sandor enjoyed hearing his title used by someone like he did when it dripped off Sansa’s tongue.  His chest rose and fell hard as she finally stood in front of him, smirking like she was about to say or to do something very naughty right about now.  He certainly hoped so.

“Care to find out for yourself?” he replied hoarsely.

“Well, we _are_ all alone…” Sansa teased him, worrying her bottom lip in that unconsciously seductive way of hers while shooting a quick glance behind her toward the closed door.  Podrick had left almost fifteen minutes ago, leaving Sandor and Sansa at the clinic all by themselves now that it was closed for the day.

Staring up into the beautiful young woman’s face as she began to unbutton her blouse deliciously slow, her pale blue eyes darkened with desire, Sandor wanted to run laps around the clinic, shouting in ecstasy at how unimaginably happy he was.  Thank all the gods that he’d had the forethought to shut the door.

“Come here,” he rasped, patting his lap eagerly.

Pulling her blouse from where it was tucked inside her pencil skirt, Sansa stepped closer, taking her sweet time as she undid her shirt’s buttons.  When Sandor widened his arms, she hiked up her skirt, grabbing onto his shoulders and then throwing one leg across him.  Now straddling him in his office chair, she grinned wickedly at him as she lowered her head, allowing her hands to run through his long black hair.  Brushing aside the hair covering his good ear, she whispered huskily, “Ever have sex in your office?”

“No,” Sandor barely squeaked, his brainwaves scrambling when her teeth nibbled at his earlobe.  His hands darted to her open blouse, shoving aside the silky fabric, reverently cupping her breasts through her lacey push-up bra.  His eyes slammed shut and his hands stilled, though, the moment Sansa’s tongue traced the rim of his ear.

“How about in one of the exam rooms?” Sansa purred in between continued nips.

“No…never,” was all he managed to say.  He could barely think under Sansa’s attentions, let alone act.

When her small hands slid down his chest, scratching their way toward his manhood, now on high alert and pushing uncomfortably against the zipper of his dress slacks, Sandor feared he might come on the spot, he was that aroused.  “Would you like to?” she asked seductively, firmly massaging his crotch and waggling her ginger eyebrows at him.

With his hands frozen against her chest, Sandor’s eyes widened comically.  Buggering hell, Sansa truly meant to have him right here in his workspace.  He briefly wondered if this was what an out of body experience felt like.  Things like this weren’t supposed to happen to a guy that looked like him.

Before Sandor could formulate a coherent answer, however, his office door burst open unexpectedly.

“Oh, God!  I’m so sorry!” Podrick stammered, his brown eyes bugging out of his head upon seeing his employer and his new girlfriend in the middle of something extremely private.

Highly startled, Sansa shrieked like a woman scorched, launching off Sandor’s lap in one fluid, graceful movement.

“Damn it, man!” Sandor hissed, wincing in discomfort thanks to his eager erection.  “Don’t you know how to knock?”

While Sansa stood huddled in the corner of Sandor’s office, her back to the guys while she feverishly tried to rebutton her blouse and smooth down her skirt, Podrick hurriedly diverted his eyes, abruptly spinning around to face the hallway.  “I did, Dr. Clegane, I swear I did!  I didn’t know you were in here!” the extraordinarily embarrassed veterinary assistant bumbled as he blankly stared at the various pieces of animal art work hanging on the walls.

Growling under his breath, Sandor adjusted himself, squirming slightly in his office chair while trying to ratchet down his wrath.  “Why are you even here?” he grumbled at Podrick.  Sandor scooted forward until his lap was well-hidden under the depths of his desk.  “I thought you’d left for the day.”

“I forgot to leave you this,” Podrick coughed, swinging a packet of paperwork behind him.

“And what in the hell is that?” Sandor groused as he scrubbed his beard with his hands in frustration.

“My evaluation papers, sir,” Podrick replied, “And the letter of recommendation request from my academic advisor.”

Now returned to a decent state, Sansa turned around to see Sandor’s menacing, unamused glare directed at Podrick’s back.  “I’m sure Dr. Clegane will be more than happy to write your letter and to fill out your evaluation,” she said, smiling at Sandor and nodding like she was trying to get him to agree with her.

“Humph,” Sandor huffed indignantly, still pissed that his extremely erotic moment with Sansa had been thwarted.

“I’ll just…can I just leave these here?” Podrick begged, waving the manilla envelope around in the air without turning to see what was happening behind him.

Biting the inside of her cheek to not burst out into laughter, Sansa smiled at Podrick.  “You can turn around now.”

“I’m good, thanks!” the mortified vet student insisted.

“When do you need them?” Sansa giggled, biting her lip to stop.  She took the packet from Podrick and laid it on the desk right in front of Sandor.

“I don’t need them back for a couple of weeks,” Podrick said, clearing his throat.

“Then why are you _still_ here?” Sandor seethed.  When Sansa gently whacked him on the upper arm, shooting him a terse look that told him all he needed to know, the horny veterinarian took a deep breath.  “What I meant to say was, yes, I’ll be happy to write your letter and to fill out your evaluation.”  With his acquiescence, he rolled his eyes at Sansa in irritation when her entire face morphed into a state of satisfaction that he had gone belly-up.

“Thank you, Dr. Clegane,” Podrick replied happily, “Thank you so much!”

“Don’t thank me.  Just leave,” Sandor added, not making eye contact with Sansa even though he knew that she was staring at him.

“Leaving right now,” Podrick declared, all but running down the hallway to the rear exit of the building.  “See you later, Dr. Clegane!  Bye, Sansa!”

“Bye, Podrick!” Sansa answered, bursting into a fit of giggles when she and Sandor heard the door slam shut on Podrick’s way out to the parking lot.

“Oh, you think that was funny, do you?” Sandor scoffed as he pushed his chair backward, rising to his feet and stalking toward Sansa.

“Have a sense of humor,” she countered saucily, holding her ground as he stood directly in front of her.

Sandor stared into her blue eyes, finding himself unable to hold on to his anger at Podrick anymore.  He even cracked a smile as he embraced her in his long arms.  “I have a terrific sense of humor.  Just wait until I start working on that evaluation paperwork.”

“Be nice,” Sansa chirped, enjoying the smug look overtaking Sandor’s face.

“How about I show you ‘nice,’” he rasped, lowering his head slowly, watching her anticipating his kiss.  Her soft moan of pleasure when his lips met hers made Sandor’s pulse thrum.  She parted her lips willingly, offering him entrance to explore her mouth with his own, which he readily accepted.  After a few moments, Sandor pulled back, gaping at her in awe.  Though the emotional part of Sandor wanted to bend Sansa over and take her right here in his office, the rational part won.  Ray would probably be hot on Podrick’s heels, showing up unannounced any second to see how Sandor had managed today on his own.  Or worse yet, Bronn might stop by on his way home from his office.  Sandor would _never_ be able to look Ray in the eye again, let alone deal with Bronn’s taunts and raunchy commentary if he were to bust up Sandor’s moment of clandestine passion.

No, what Sandor needed to do was get this show on the road.

“Let’s go home,” Sandor sighed longingly.

Sansa grinned in return.  She liked how he had said that.  “Absolutely.”  As Sandor moved to loosen his grip, she tightened hers, not letting him go.  “You want to have dinner with me?  Or do you need a break from me, seeing how we spent the whole day together?”

Her question caused his dark eyebrow to raise.  “I could never tire of you.”

“Good,” she smiled at him, lifting on her toes to steal a quick kiss.  “Because I’m not tired of you, either.”

“I’ll make us something to eat,” Sandor surprised her as they began to gather their things from his office.  “It’ll be my way of saying thank you for helping out around here today.”

“I can think of _lots_ of ways you can thank me,” she teased him, grabbing her handbag and sashaying out the office door.

As the sound of her heels clickety-clacked on the tile floor, Sandor growled under his breath, jerking his messenger back from the back of his chair and throwing it on.  “Please tell me you’re not just wanting me to take Lady for a walk.”

Sansa’s laughter echoed in the hallway.  “You’ll have to wait and see, big boy.”

“Bloody minx,” he snarled playfully, turning off the light and slamming his office door shut, yanking Sansa by the hand and hustling her down the hallway toward the exit.

 

_______________________________

 

Lounging on his orthopedic doggie bed, Stranger snuffled and snorted as he woke from a long, glorious nap.  Unlike most days, today he’d not accompanied his master to the place where other animals hated to go.  Well, to be fair, Stranger got to lounge about in his master’s office while the other poor bastards got the once-over.  Thankfully, Stranger only had to endure such indignities but once a year when he found himself being measured and stuck with needles.  At least it was _his_ master doing the dirty work.

As Stranger stretched and rose from his bed, he made sure he was careful not to rouse the curled-up ball of white fur huddled next to him.  Lady had worn herself out today while hanging out at Stranger’s den, spending most of her time either sniffing and nosing about the place or begging him to engage in some sort of playtime diversion.  Unused to having a doggie friend, Stranger was at first indignant that he’d been left to stay in the apartment, willfully ignoring Lady no matter how hard she worked him over with those puppy dog eyes.

Yet it had only taken an embarrassingly brief amount of time before he gave in, and to his delight, he quickly discovered that he kind of enjoyed having a lady friend to keep him company.  Though she was way too hyper for him at times, Stranger did have a blast chasing their Wunderballs around the apartment.  And the extra warmth from Lady’s considerably smaller body pressed against his while they had rested was terribly soothing, though Stranger would rather wear a sparkly collar than admit it.

Ambling over to the kitchen, Stranger was about to get a drink of water when the front door burst open with such force, the old dog startled in his tracks.  To his utter confusion, his master stumbled inside their den, dragging the human lady with the red fur along with him, the two of them viciously mauling each other and wound around one another like two snakes.  Stranger, who was curious as hell now, seated himself in the entry way between the kitchen and the hallway, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the sounds of his master growling while the human lady purred and mewled like a damn cat.

Before Stranger could woof to remind them that they were not alone, his master pinned the human lady against the back of the door, using his hands to lift her into the air while he divested her of the clothing under her skirt.  When his master’s pants hit the floor and a shiny, crinkly packet emerged from his master’s wallet, Stranger knew what was about to happen.  The human lady must be in heat, he guessed, based on the amount of times his master had mounted her in the last few days.  Rising to his feet, Stranger shuffled on into the kitchen, lapping up a hearty mouthful of water while the female human cried out, making Stranger startle yet again.  Gruffling under his breath, the old dog went back to drinking water.  He really hoped her cycle passed soon so he could get some damn peace and quiet around here again.

 

_______________________________

 

Now dressed in his athletic pants and old faded black t-shirt, Sandor was busy in the kitchen.  He was in the middle of chopping and dicing various fresh veggies at the counter, humming to himself as the water boiled the quinoa on the stove, while Sansa was in the middle of taking both Lady and Stranger for a walk around the apartment complex.  Glancing at the oven timer, Sandor smiled while preparing their dinner.  The idea of Sansa trying to wrangle both pooches made him chuckle.  Although Stranger was certainly well-behaved and well-trained, he still was a beast of a dog, weighing more than Sansa and Lady combined.  Even though Sandor had questioned Sansa’s ability to manage her own giddy-as-hell pup while juggling his, she had stuck to her guns, jutting her chin outward as she decreed that she could handle it.  Sandor had shaken his head with a laugh, telling her if any lady could handle it, it would be her.

Smirking to himself as he relived their moment of fervid passion not so long ago, Sandor marveled at how utterly fantastic it had been to have Sansa with him at Noble Hound today.  Effortlessly, his brand-new girlfriend had found her niche at the clinic, mastering every facet that the job required in record speed.  She had easily managed the welcome desk, computer system, phone lines, and office equipment like she’d worked there for ages.  And her people skills were sublime.  Sandor had never seen anyone so at ease with complete strangers.  Throughout the day, his clients repeatedly had commented to him during their pets’ exams how amazing the new receptionist was.  Her friendly, bubbly personality brought immense happiness to everyone with whom she had contact.

Sansa’s genuine concern for the people and their pets truly shone like a light from the heavens when she helped comfort one little old lady whose beloved cat Sandor had to put down this afternoon.  The poor kitty had suffered a lengthy terminal illness that had resisted all forms of treatment, and even though Mrs. Hornwood had known this day was coming, she had broken down in the exam room as she stroked her cat for the last time.  Though years of practicing veterinarian medicine had toughened Sandor for moments like these, he all but lost it right then and there in the exam room when Sansa, who had overheard the little old lady’s sobs, came into the exam room, enveloping the grieving cat owner in her long, toned arms while offering her words of comfort.

A huge lump emerged in Sandor’s throat once again just thinking about how sweetly Sansa had spoke to Mrs. Hornwood as her pet had drawn its last breath, breaking down into tears herself as she held the old woman through her sorrow.  Sansa was truly a rare gem.  How he’d managed to find her and to garner her affections was beyond him.  Sandor wished that he could figure out a way to ask Sansa to work for him.  Yeah, he was probably crazy as a bedbug for wanting to test his fledging relationship so soon; they were already neighbors, for Christ’s sake.  If things were to go south between the two of them one day, it would be horrific.  Yet the longer Sandor witnessed Sansa’s skill and grace at Noble Hound, he truly couldn’t imagine her _not_ being there every day, greeting customers and taking care of their needs like he’d never seen.

 

_______________________________

 

As Sandor prepared their dinner, Sansa was struggling not to lose her patience with Lady.  She had talked a good game earlier, holding her ground when Sandor had questioned her ability to take both dogs for a walk.  Sansa insisted that she could handle Stranger, even if the dog was almost big enough to throw on a saddle and ride.  Sure, Lady could be a handful sometimes, but surely it wouldn’t be that much different to take her beloved schnocker for a walk with the older dog in tow, right?

Nope.  It wasn’t much different.  It was painfully different.

Although Lady had already successfully graduated from two levels of obedience training, she was acting like a brand-new puppy out on a walk for the very first time.  Every two steps Sansa managed to take, Lady threw herself on the sidewalk or the grass, rolling about and snorting like a crazy dog while Stranger, determined to press onward, gave a terse woof of disapproval each time.  Sansa had to ask Stranger to heel so many times, she thought that the older dog was starting to look at her like she was nuts.  For some odd reason, Sansa was thankful that Stranger couldn’t talk.  Otherwise, she had no doubt that Sandor and his pooch would have a chuckle together at her expense later.

“Lady, up!” Sansa commanded firmly, rolling her blue eyes in frustration that yet again, Lady had hit the dirt.  Now paused beside a small decorative tree not far from her building, Sansa was ready to hike Lady under her arms and haul her to Sandor’s place, even if it meant she’d never live it down.  Before she could bend over to wrangle her floofy pooch, Sansa heard a familiar voice call out to her.

“Hey, Sansa!” Margaery beamed as she walked from the parking lot toward Sansa.

“Marge!” Sansa smiled, unsure why her friend was here.  “Hey!  What are you doing here?”

“It’s Monday, remember?” Margaery grinned as she surveyed Sansa’s new canine friend.  “Our day to go shopping?”

“Oh, right!” Sansa replied emphatically, “It’s Monday!  Of course!”

Nonplussed by her redheaded buddy’s reaction, Margaery laughed as she watched the huge black dog trying to pick up Lady, using his massive muzzle to nudge the smaller white dog to a standing position.  “You forgot, didn’t you?” Margaery giggled, shaking her head when Sansa’s cheeks flushed pink.

“Yeah, I uh…yeah, I did,” Sansa agreed sheepishly.

“Been to busy with the dog doc to know which way is up, I take it?” Margaery teased Sansa, smirking when Sansa’s face deepened from a nice bright pink to a deep crimson.

“I’m so sorry,” the embarrassed redhead said.  “I told Sandor that I would eat dinner with him tonight, but I’ll run upstairs and tell him that I’d already made plans.  I know he’ll -”

“Look, it’s no big deal,” Margaery interrupted sincerely.  “Enjoy your dinner.  We can do it some other time.”

“You’re not mad at me?” Sansa asked.

“Of course not, sweetie!” Margaery laughed.  “I am jealous, though.  Gah, I’d love to have a man fawn over me like this dude’s doing over you!”

As the two ladies laughed, Margaery moved closer, intent on patting Sansa’s shoulder.  However, Stranger, now on high alert that this new human female in the flowered sundress was attempting to touch his master’s lady friend, immediately wedged himself between the two female humans in a defensive strike.

“Woah, Stranger!” Sansa gasped, completely caught off guard by the enormous dog’s weight pushing against her thighs.

“Looks like someone else has fallen in love with you this weekend,” Margaery joked, shaking her head when Sansa leaned down, softly speaking to the humongous dog still glaring at Margaery.

While Sansa was momentarily distracted, Margaery wandered off by herself a bit, basking in the warmth of the early evening sunshine as she admired the floral displays surrounding the parking lot.  Her attention, however, was almost immediately diverted by a ruggedly handsome, dark-haired man sauntering along the sidewalk toward Sansa’s building not far from where the two women stood.  Exuding confidence, he was tall, lanky, and had a wickedly smug look about him.  Encased in a super-expensive, navy three-piece suit, he carried a black leather attaché case, whistling as he walked toward Sansa’s building.  Intrigued, the single blond arched an eyebrow his direction, placing her hand on her curvy hip while leaning on one leg.  When the man finally noticed her noticing him, he smiled widely at her, shooting her a sinful wink as he passed by them.  Too bad she couldn’t have seen that guy under different circumstances.  Margaery was certain he was the kind of guy she’d like to get to know.

“Margaery?” Sansa’s voice interrupted her wayward thoughts.

“Hmm?” Margaery sighed deeply, watching the guy jog up the stairs and disappear inside Sansa’s building.

“You okay?” Sansa asked as she petted Stranger, her blue eyes narrowed as she wondered where her friend’s brain had gone.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Margaery said wistfully, returning her attention to Sansa.  “Say, why don’t you introduce me to your dog doc before I leave?”

“Sure!” Sansa grinned, the thought of Sandor meeting her friend giving her a warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest.  Introductions would be inevitable.  They could only stay in their little cocoon for so much longer.  “I’d love that!”

“And who knows?” Margaery chuckled as the two ladies began walking toward Sansa’s building, the frustrated redhead once again grumbling because Lady refused to cooperate.  “Maybe I’ll get lucky, and your dog doc will have a friend.”  With that comment, the young women giggled as Stranger, under Sansa’s coaxing, finally let Margaery pet him on the head.

 

_______________________________

 

As Sandor pulled together the last few items out of his fridge for his pending meal with Sansa, he heard a light rapping on his front door.  Imagining that Sansa had inadvertently locked herself out thanks to his stupid front door and its hinky lock, Sandor smiled widely.  Better yet, maybe she’d given up trying to handle two dogs of decidedly different sizes.  Yanking a dish towel off the counter, Sandor wiped his hands as he shuffled to the front door to let Sansa and company inside his apartment, wetting his lips as he prepared to engage her in a round of give-and-take.

“So, is the big guy too much for you to handle?” he teased suggestively as he jerked open the front door.

To his complete horror, the wrong pair of blue eyes was staring back at him from the welcome mat.

“Too big, eh?” Bronn snorted, his eyes raking up and down Sandor’s muscular form.  “Christ, I hope you don’t always answer the door like that.”  Shoving past Sandor, Bronn marched right into his buddy’s place completely unannounced and uninvited.

“What…the…” Sandor stammered, his huge feet unable to move from where he stood in the open doorway.

“Your papers weren’t in order,” Bronn answered, placing his attaché case on the top of the bar, unlatching it and removing a humungous envelope.

“What are you talking about?” Sandor blinked, leaving his door wide open as he shuffled toward the counter where Bronn now stood, who was now pulling out from the envelope the stack of legal documents.

Bronn laughed at Sandor’s confused expression.  “The little yellow tabby things labeled ‘Sign Here,’ remember?  Well, you missed a few.”

“How is that possible?” Sandor fumed as he grabbed the stack of papers, positive that he’d been quite thorough when he’d signed the documents on Friday morning.

“With you, there’s no telling,” Bronn teased as he watched Sandor rummage through the missing signatures.

“Ah, stifle, will you?” Sandor growled at his long-time friend, shoving his open hand at Bronn.  “Just show me what I need to sign.”  Handing Sandor a pen, Bronn still chuckled as Sandor grumbled under his breath.

“Right there and there,” Bronn pointed casually with his index finger, showing Sandor the spots that he’d overlooked.  “And there, too.”

“Is that all?” Sandor sighed, his hands feverishly scratching across the blank line.

“Hang on…just one more…” Bronn paused dramatically, taking the stack of papers from Sandor and thumbing through them. “Right…there.”

Quickly, Sandor scribbled his name.  “Is _that_ it?”

“That oughta do it,” Bronn smiled, jerking his pen away from Sandor and putting back inside his blazer.  “You’ll be the sole owner of Noble Hound in no time.”  Having thoroughly surveyed his surroundings while Sandor was busy signing the papers, the curious attorney couldn’t resist cross-examining his exasperated friend.  “Expecting someone?”

“Yes, but not you,” Sandor huffed, startled when the oven timer began buzzing wildly.

“I saw your lovely little bird out front with Stranger,” Bronn began, leaning against the bar like he had all the time in the world to hang out with Sandor.  “You two must’ve hit it off even better than I’d hope for.”

“You could say that,” Sandor mumbled, dashing into the kitchen, grabbling an oven mitt off the counter, turning off timer right before he removed the roasting veggies from the oven.

“So, when do I get to meet the lovely lass?” Bronn wondered, chuckling as he watched Sandor, who was fumbling with the two trays of piping hot food.

“How about never?” Sandor grumbled in mounting frustration at being badgered by his perpetually nosy best friend.

“Hmm…maybe I’ll just hang around until she brings the dogs back up, and I’ll introduce myself,” Bronn threatened playfully, waggling his eyebrows at his harried buddy.

“Absolutely not!” Sandor gasped in surprise as he sat the piping-hot pans onto the counter.  Jesus H. Christ.  There was no way in hell that he was prepared for the reckoning that would occur if he let Bronn anywhere near Sansa.  Bronn would find a way to embarrass him in about five seconds flat.  “Time for you to go!” Sandor announced as he hustled around the bar.  He clasped Bronn by the elbow, dragging his highly amused friend toward the wide open front door.

“What’s the rush?” Bronn laughed heartily as he allowed himself to be drug along.  “Afraid I’ll share all your deep, dark secrets?”

“Am I under oath?”

“Always.”

“Then yes, Counselor, I am.”

“Perhaps I’ll tell her about that time you - ”

“Out with you, Flynn!” Sandor insisted as he finally had Bronn right where he wanted him.  He was just about to shove Bronn out the door and slam it shut when his moment of victory was thwarted.

“Tell her about what?” Sansa grinned as she and Margaery both stood just outside Sandor’s door with two dogs in tow.

And as Sandor’s irritated gray eyes bored holes into the side of Bronn’s head, now turned while the intrigued attorney was busy ogling the lovely blonde he’d seen eyeballing him outside not so long ago, Sansa gave herself a mental high-five when she noticed how Margaery’s face lit up with the anticipation of one most welcomed introduction.

Not to Sandor, of course.

 

_______________________________

 

Though Sandor had wanted to kick Bronn to the curb the very instant that Sansa and her perky little personal trainer friend had showed up at his door, Sansa unfortunately, had other ideas.  Before Sandor knew what happened, both Margaery and Bronn had been eagerly invited to stay for dinner, Sansa shooting him a terse look that told him he’d better hold his tongue. 

For Sandor, relief came much sooner than expected when Bronn, who decided to spare his seething friend any more torment, offered instead to escort Margaery to dinner elsewhere.  Thanks to all the gods that the little lady had accepted Bronn’s invitation.  As the front door closed behind the smiling pair, Sandor spun around quickly, leaning back against the door and sighed one of the heaviest sighs on record.  Sansa, of course, laughed endlessly at him, giddy as a kid in a candy shop at the thought that maybe, just maybe, Margaery had found a chance at happiness tonight thanks to Sansa’s matchmaking efforts.  The rather painful smack that Sandor had received on his muscular ass from Sansa as a result of his snarky comment about Margaery’s poor taste in men was pain well spent.

Now that dinner with Sansa was finished and the dishes done, Sandor was in the middle of his nighttime routine, standing in his bathroom while brushing his teeth.  Sandwiched next to him in the tight space stood Sansa, doing the same, the both of them in their pajamas.  The domesticity of the moment brought a flush of warmth to Sandor’s bearded cheeks.  After only a brief time together, the pair of them were acting like an old married couple.

“Thanks for letting me sleep over,” Sansa mumbled through a mouthful of foamy minty freshness, smiling at Sandor in the mirror above the sink.

“My pleasure,” Sandor chuckled in return after he rinsed and spit in the sink.

As Sansa did the same, he swallowed hard.  This beautiful, smart, tough woman was his.  Here she stood in his bathroom like she lived here.

_Maybe one day…_

“You think I’ll ever catch that mouse?” Sansa wondered as she rinsed out the sink, laying her pink toothbrush on the edge next to Sandor’s.  “I mean, what if I never do?  I really hate even thinking about waking up and seeing it trapped in the pantry.  I’d much rather stay over here, to be honest.”

The wetness pooling at the corner of Sandor’s gray eyes forced him to blink hard, coughing to cover up his emotions.  “You’re welcome to stay with me as long as you like, Sansa.  Mouse or not.”

With that declaration, Sansa immediately looked into his face, her brief look of disbelief quickly erased by one of utter adoration.  “I plan on it,” she agreed, lifting herself on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his scarred cheek.  Reaching up to tenderly stroke the damaged flesh, Sansa tilted her head to the side, her ginger brows knitted together as she thought about what suffering Sandor must have endured to wear such scars.  The raised ridges of flesh were leather-like to the touch, and even though she imagined he couldn’t feel her hands there when she touched him, Sansa couldn’t help but wonder what trauma he’d been through.

“My brother did that,” Sandor blurted out without introduction, causing her brows to almost shoot off her forehead.  It was like he’d read her mind.

“Your…your _brother_?” Sansa gasped, her hand stilling on Sandor’s skin.

“I was nine,” Sandor began, clearing his throat as he continued, “My mum, well, she died when I was just a wee boy.  I barely remember her.  My father, the poor bastard, was left to raise his two sons on his own.  One day, my psychopathic fuckwad of an older brother decided to teach me a lesson for messing with his stuff.  So, he held my face to my dad’s grill outside in the back yard while he’d gone inside to fetch the hamburgers.  Talk about one hell of a summer afternoon.”

“Dear God,” Sansa cried, her voice cracking as he leaned into her touch.

“Gregor was never right in the head,” Sandor added.  “He was violent from the moment he could walk.  It wasn’t the first time he’d hurt me…just the worst.”

“Sandor, I’m so…I just…” she tried to speak, her heart breaking as her brain tried to process her lover’s pain.

“It was a lifetime ago,” he sighed.

“Whatever happened to Gregor?” Sansa asked as she continued to hold Sandor’s face.

Lowering his saddened eyes, Sandor let out a heavy breath.  “My father tried to get him help, but it didn’t take.  Gregor wound up running away and committing even more heinous crimes.  He was in prison over near Edinburgh, last I heard a few years ago.”

“He didn’t come with you and your father when you left Scotland?” she wondered.

“Nah, he was already of legal age by the time we left,” he replied as he met her dumbfounded gaze.  “He didn’t want to come, and I sure as hell was glad of it.  I haven’t laid eyes on Gregor since Dad put us on the plane coming here.”

A cloud of silence overtook the small bathroom where Sansa and Sandor stood.  Right here, right now, all Sansa wanted to do was comfort Sandor.  To hold him…to love him…to tell him how sorry she was that his family was so screwed up…and to kick Petyr’s ass again for ever trying to put doubts in her head about Sandor in the first place.

“As for your mouse tenant, I think you should just let it roam freely,” Sandor spoke softly, lifting his hand toward his own face, entwining his fingers with Sansa’s.  “Get rid of the traps and let it have the run of the place.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sansa gaped at him, snorting in disbelief at not only the sudden shift in conversation but the very topic as well.

“No, love, I’m not.”

“Why on earth would you think such a thing?

“Because…” he slightly smiled at her, unable to stop the flow of tears any longer, “I owe that bloody mouse.  I should get on my knees and thank the little bugger for showing up on your counter.  Don’t you see?”

Sansa, stupefied by Sandor’s sudden soliloquy, merely shook her head.

“All of the pain and all of the bullshit I’ve had to endure thanks to this face…” Sandor paused, sniffling to get himself under control, “None of it would have been worth it if you hadn’t screamed like a banshee at the little fucker on Friday.”

“Oh, Sandor…” Sansa broke down, pulling Sandor against her body, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding onto him for dear life.

The day he’d seen his face in a mirror for the first time after Gregor’s moment of malice, Sandor’s heart froze in time.  Although his body grew and his brain matured, Sandor never quite overcame the trauma he’d felt at Gregor’s hands, even as the scar tissue formed and the throbbing, dull ache stopped.  For years, Sandor had trapped himself behind a thick wall of sarcasm insulated with his fear of rejection.  Yet thanks to one little mouse and to one amazing woman, he’d managed to rip down the wall which he’d thought impenetrable.

And as he rested his marred face on the top of Sansa’s head, closing his eyes and smiling while the couple listened to the sounds of Lady and Stranger playing together in the living room, their barks and snuffles of happiness echoing down the hallway, Sandor knew that it just didn’t get any better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, folks - I'm wrapping up this puppy (pun fully intended) in the next chapter or so. I've enjoyed delving into this story with you. However, my time to write during the week is extremely limited, so I'm hoping to start exploring new ideas as soon as I can put this one to rest. Just wanted to let you know in advance so you can brace yourself for any parting hijinks that ensue!


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